


Heartstrings

by Dragonbat



Series: Heartstrings [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking up Belle/Will Scarlett as respectfully as I can, Details and spoilers for the MGM Musical Lili, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Heroes Behaving Badly, Mental Coercion, Minor historical RPF, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-11 03:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 56
Words: 289,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11705859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonbat/pseuds/Dragonbat
Summary: Season 4 AU. When Storybrooke learns that Rumple has suffered a heart attack in New York, Emma, Belle, and August go to find him. Eventual Rumbelle. Note: Chapter 22 contains a detailed synopsis and spoilers for the movieLili(MGM, 1951). Apologies to those who have not yet seen it and are hoping to go into it fresh.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Once Upon A Time is the creation of Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and is owned by ABC, a subsidiary of Disney. I am receiving no financial remuneration for this work of fan-fiction.  
> Timeline: Season 4, starting somewhere during E12.  
> Spoilers: This chapter, S4 E12: Heroes and Villains and S4 E18: Heart of Gold. Fair warning: any episode in S1 thru 6 is fair game. In Chapter 22, there are spoilers for the movie _Lili_ (MGM, 1951).  
> 

**Chapter One**

Rumpelstiltskin sat on a bench in Central Park and told himself that the trembling in his hands and the thumping of his heart was only from the chill of the evening air and his recent harrowing experience. The doctors had said it was a heart attack. They hadn't been wrong, though it wasn't the sort of heart attack they thought it was. "Moral, not medical," he'd told Robin Hood. The hospital staff's recommendations for diet and exercise were useless for this condition. The cure he needed was in Storybrooke. He hoped.

He shouldn't be sitting here. There was a lot to arrange and little time to do it in. He had to—somehow—get back inside Storybrooke. In theory, that shouldn't be impossible. Belle had commanded him to leave. She hadn't added the word 'forever'. She'd never said he couldn't come back. She hadn't had to, of course. Thanks to the spell on the town line, once one stepped foot outside of Storybrooke, there was no returning. And yet, was anything truly impossible? There had to be a loophole somewhere.

_He didn't know where he was going to sleep tonight._

He tried to focus on the tasks that lay ahead. His life was on the line and there would be no second chances. He needed to set things in motion from here.

_Bereft of magic, money, influence, friends…_

Magic was predicated on belief. He had to believe that this was possible. No matter what logic dictated. No matter the odds against it. He'd beaten insurmountable odds before.

_He'd had centuries to beat those odds. Now, he had days. Weeks at most. And besides Robin and_ —he shuddered—Zelena, _he didn't know a soul here._

Robin had made it clear that he wanted nothing further to do with him. That suited Rumpelstiltskin just fine. There was no way that he wanted to be any place close to Zelena. He wondered that Robin hadn't noticed anything odd about his wife. One would have thought the outlaw would have been more perceptive. Perhaps, Rumple should have warned him. Well. Too late for that now. And not Rumple's problem. There were other things to worry about.

_He'd been in line at the soup kitchen, but they'd run out just before they reached him. The volunteer had mentioned two other possible locations, but he didn't know this city and, in his misery, he hadn't fully heard the directions. Besides, if those places had also exhausted their supply before he got there, he wasn't sure he'd be able to deal with that disappointment without breaking down. And he wasn't about to break down in public._

He thought about what Regina had told him, only a few short days ago. Henry was convinced that the Author of the Storybook was somewhere in the town. Henry was an extremely perceptive young man and Rumple trusted his intuition.

He'd known for years that the odds were rigged against villains. He'd thought that with careful planning and scheming, those odds could yet be surmounted. After everything that had happened to him in the last few days, he no longer believed this to be the case.

If Destiny was ruining his chances, then there was little he could do. Going by Regina's experience, even changing sides didn't alter one's fate. And his own attempts at being a better person seemed to corroborate that hypothesis. But if Destiny wasn't the culprit, or not the _sole_ culprit, at any rate… if this Author could write a happy ending for him that would stick… Well, Destiny was Destiny, and couldn't be tricked or haggled with. But an author? An author was a human being. That opened up some rather different possibilities.

He frowned. From what he remembered coming across in his studies, Authors were meant to record what they saw, not alter it. And yet, each carried a special quill with a special ink. Now, what was it about that ink…? Memory burst upon him like a cold wave. In order to give the ink its reality-altering power, it required the blood of a Dark savior. Rumple closed his eyes and felt his shoulders slump. Where was he supposed to locate a Dark savior? And then he sat up straight once more. He might not know where he could locate a Dark savior, but he certainly knew where a _Light_ one could be found. And saviors could be tempted and turned just like anyone else.

But to do that, he needed to get back to Storybrooke. To do that, he needed help. And he suspected he knew where he might find it. He wasn't the only denizen from the Enchanted Forest in the world outside Storybrooke—something he'd discovered some years earlier. He and the Sea-Witch had a rather difficult history together, but she could likely be persuaded to set that aside and work toward a common goal. And Cruella was here too. Under the right circumstances, she could prove rather useful. And…

He stopped. He couldn't afford this sort of plotting, not now. Not when so little of his heart remained untouched by darkness. Plots and schemes would only hasten what he was trying to avert. And, perhaps, he still nursed a small shred of hope. That although Belle no longer wanted anything to do with him, she still wouldn't want him to die if she could prevent it. If he could get back to Storybrooke, then there was a chance that the magic he'd been using to control his condition would still work.

_And if it didn't?_

Well, it would be a great deal easier to darken Emma's heart if the two of them were in the same town.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from S2:E16, "The Miller's Daughter"

**Chapter Two**

Six weeks later, Rumpelstiltskin still wasn't sure what to do. He had two options, both of which would require humility and humiliation in varying degrees. He still had his cell phone with him. And much as he was loath to let the heroes he'd left behind know how far he had fallen, they _were_ heroes, after all. They'd help him if he asked.

…Or perhaps not. The last time he'd been in this city, the pirate had come very close to killing him. Bae and Emma had brought him back home then, where the town was already facing the combined threat of Regina and her mother. He'd told Snow White how to save his life. And he well remembered her response.

_There's another way. I get Cora's heart, I control her and make her do the right thing, and I let you die. Takes care of two evils at once._

If he hadn't thought to remind her of what that might do to Henry… He shook his head. Snow's response had told him two things: for all their talk about 'doing the right thing,' the one he'd always thought to be the sweetest and purest of the heroes would walk away and leave him to die without a second thought… and given the opportunity, she had about as many moral qualms about using magic to control another as Zelena would later demonstrate. Small wonder that when he'd been Zelena's captive and the heroes had broken into his castle to seek his aid, it hadn't occurred to them to offer him anything in return. They couldn't have helped him to escape, of course, not while Zelena held his dagger. But food… a blanket… even a promise to come back for him certainly wouldn't have gone amiss. No. They were perfectly comfortable using him… but helping him?

He'd been sure he could trust Belle. Almost sure; he hadn't quite been able to bring himself to part with the dagger, after all, though he thought he'd done the next best thing. In retrospect, he reflected, he'd been wise to keep it. Of course, if he hadn't, he probably wouldn't be in this mess either.

Well. If Fate and the heroes considered him a villain, then he might as well play the part. Ursula and Cruella would be willing to help him for the right price. And they wouldn't cloak their intentions in self-righteousness and sanctimony, either. Unfortunately, at the moment, he had little he could offer them. He needed them more than they needed him. And they certainly wouldn't help him for no reason, nor for what would surely sound to them like pie-in-the-sky promises.

There was no help for it. He was going to have to pawn the few valuables he had left: his gold watch, his cuff-links… He'd hung his tie on a branch just past the town line so that he'd be able to find his way home, but he still had the clip. With the money from those, he could probably find more acceptable attire, perhaps a few props to give the illusion that he was in better circumstances than he truly was.

It was growing dark. After the last few weeks, he'd learned the best time to get into line at the soup kitchens and shelters if he wanted to eat before they'd given away all they had. He wasn't about to sleep in some church basement with scores of other people in his situation, but the weather was still mild enough to camp out of doors. And tomorrow, he would attend to business.

* * *

He was sleeping in Bryant Park, but that night, he was roughly awakened by the flat end of a knife pressed firmly against his throat and a hand over his mouth. He'd almost had a genuine heart attack on the spot when a hard voice whispered, "You scream, you fight, you even twitch, you dead, man—got it?"

He'd nodded quickly, instinctively, and was thankful that the knife's owner didn't seem to count _that_ as a twitch. The man—easily two-hundred-and-fifty-pounds of muscle—had moved the knife, flipped him over with a practiced efficiency and divested him of his overcoat. All the while, Rumple could feel something pressing on the back of his neck, and while it might have been a fingernail, not the point of the blade, Rumple took no chances. He'd held still and suffered the indignity of having his assailant paw through his suit pockets, removing the items he'd meant to pawn the next day. He didn't miss the cufflinks either. Rumple couldn't quite stifle a whimper as he felt the blade at his throat once more. "Please…" he whispered. The thug's only response was to dig the blade in slightly. A warning. Rumple took it. The thug rubbed the lapel of Rumple's suit jacket between two fingers speculatively, before deciding to leave it. Rumple couldn't say as he blamed him; the suit hadn't been laundered since Storybrooke and while the fabric was expensive, the garment hung in near-tatters.

Undaunted, the man reached down and yanked Rumple's black Becketts Balmorals off of his feet. He didn't bother unlacing them and, while Rumple managed not to shriek, a whimper escaped him when the thief wrenched his bad ankle. The man grabbed up the shoes and the rest of his booty and hurried off, leaving Rumple trembling and nearly weeping from fear, cold, and impotent fury.

He couldn't take much more of this. If he didn't swallow his pride and get help quickly, then one way or another… he would be dead in a few days.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some dialogue borrowed from S4:E17, “Best Laid Plans”.

**Chapter Three**

Regina had to admit that, as much as her ego smarted at the idea of apologizing to the people she'd hurt, it made the rest of her feel better when she finally got the words out. She supposed it was one more thing that she could conveniently lay at her mother's doorstep. Cora had groomed her for royalty. And royalty _never_ apologized to their inferiors. Clearly, Regina thought with an internal wince, Mother had considered _her_ in that category, as well. It seemed she'd spent a good part of her teen years locked in her bedroom until she broke down and begged Cora's pardon for some real or imagined offense.

Today, though, her offense hadn't been imaginary. She'd lost her temper because a nine-year-old boy, who'd been trying his best to be helpful, hadn't been able to retrieve the memories he'd lost when he'd been de-aged back to childhood some two years earlier. His father had been furious, and justifiably so.

Apologizing to Marco for verbally abusing his son had, ironically, been a lot harder than apologizing to Belle for locking her up for over twenty-eight years. Cora would have been furious. Her daughter apologizing to a common tradesman? She probably would have ripped out Pinocchio's heart and ordered him to divulge his secrets, then muttered something about how useless he was and crushed it when he couldn't obey. Regina wasn't her mother. And she knew first-hand the anger of a parent who perceived a threat to their child. She'd been out of line and she'd admitted it. And Marco had been far more forgiving than she would have been under those circumstances. He'd even given her the items that had been salvaged from August's old life (she had a hard time thinking of the adult that Pinocchio had grown into by any other name), and his good wishes for success. She'd thanked him profusely and passed the material on to Henry.

The problem was that Henry still wasn't finding any real leads. It wasn't enough. If August had known the information they were seeking, he hadn't written it down. There had to be some way to retrieve it. A thought struck her. Perhaps… No. Even if it were possible, Marco would never allow it. But if he did…

First things first. There was no point in antagonizing the handyman if she wasn't even sure whether what she was thinking could be done. But if it could…

Regina hesitated one more moment. Then she grabbed her coat, headed for her car, and drove to the library without stopping.

She marched to the desk, her shoes clicking on the terrazzo floor with an intensity that made Belle look away at once from the evidence board on the wall. "No luck?" Regina greeted the librarian with a sigh.

Belle shook her head. "I've reached out to some of the finest minds online," she said. "Hopefully, someone will have some idea how to rescue the fairies. But for now…"

Regina nodded. "I'll keep looking on my end, too," she said. "But I've gone through all my spell books multiple times. I…" She hesitated. "I came here to ask you about browsing through any… other spell books you might have access to, for… for another project of mine. But I can keep looking for a way to reopen that hat, while I'm at it."

Belle nodded back, taking her meaning at once. "I know Rumple kept some in the… in _his_ basement," she amended hastily. "I was… I haven't been back to the house since that night," she said. "Silly, I suppose."

"No, not silly," Regina returned. "Painful."

"Yeah," Belle admitted with a sigh. "Even so, I should have thought to retrieve those books before this. I'll bring them over this evening, after I close up?"

Regina smiled. "I'd appreciate that, Belle. Thank you."

* * *

While she couldn't even find a reference to the Sorcerer's hat in Rumple's books, let alone a way to release the fairies from it, she was able to find the answer to her original problem. Which, naturally, led to a thornier one.

Marco regarded her with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You want to turn my boy back into a man?" he repeated.

"Pinocchio may not remember anything about the author," Regina repeated, "but August might."

"So, you want him to sacrifice his youth on the off chance that he can maybe tell you what you want to know. And then what? Change him back?"

Regina sighed. "I can," she said. "The spell should be reversible. But I won't lie to you, Marco. The book warns that changing back and forth can put a strain on the subject's body. It suggests waiting several months before trying."

"Several months!" Marco exclaimed. "And meanwhile, my boy—"

"—already grew up to become a man," Regina pointed out. "Blue's spell saved his life, but it took away the life he made for himself. I'm not saying she was wrong," she continued, "but maybe returning him to the man he was isn't a bad thing."

"And maybe leaving him the boy he is now isn't either," Marco snapped. Then his anger seemed to melt away. "You know," he said, "I sent my boy through that wardrobe to give him his best chance. I didn't know what your spell would do; if it would turn him back to wood…"

"That…" Regina hesitated, "could have happened to him regardless, the second he stepped out of that tree. It's not like the curse created a magic-free zone in this realm; this realm is naturally without magic."

"I know, I know," Marco replied. "But I wasn't thinking. And, because of the choice I made, my boy grew up without me. Twenty-eight years. You know, he ran away from the group home he was placed in at the age of seven and lived on the streets for almost ten years before some agency helped him? If we'd been together, _I_ would have helped him. Guided him. So he would have grown up right and never had to worry about turning back to wood. I can do that, now."

"Marco," Regina stopped then. "You're right," she admitted. "Growing up alone couldn't have been easy for him. I've seen a bit of what Snow and David have had to deal with, being reunited with Emma after such a long time. I know you want to spare him those hardships. But sometimes… they're what make us stronger."

"And sometimes, they're what break us."

"Father…"

Both adults directed their attention to the open doorway behind Marco where a small red-haired boy in a dark woolen coat stood looking nervous, but determined.

"Pinocchio," Marco said warmly. "Don't worry. I won't—"

"I'm not," Pinocchio interrupted. He looked from his father to Regina and then back to his father. "It's okay," he said. "You can change me back."

"Pinocchio. You… you don't know what you're saying."

The boy took a step forward. "Yes, I do, Father. You told me last night that you weren't angry with Regina anymore, because you thought she should have a happy ending after all. Well, if I can help with that, shouldn't I?" Marco was already shaking his head and Pinocchio quickly added, "I promised the Blue Fairy I'd be selfless, brave, and true. Well… this is selfless. Isn't it?"

He turned to Regina. "It won't hurt or anything, will it? And if I want you to, you can make me a boy again?"

Regina had an odd look on her face, almost as though she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "If you heard me telling your father what I wanted, then you know you'll have to stay a grown-up for a while before it'll be safe to reverse it. But, yes. I will."

Pinocchio nodded. "Father… this is right. Please?"

Marco covered his eyes with one hand and let out a heavy sigh. "Pinocchio… my boy… are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Father."

He looked at Regina once more. "You'll be especially careful with the spell? He's my son."

"I have a son, too, Marco," Regina said softly. "And I'll be as careful as if I was casting the spell on mine instead of yours."

Marco nodded his acquiescence. "You're a brave boy, Pinocchio." He turned to Regina again.

"All right," he said. "If it's what he wants. Do it."

Regina exhaled. "Thank you, both." She beckoned for Pinocchio to come closer. "You should probably sit down. When I age you, you're going to grow and, according to the spell book, it's going to interfere with your balance for little while, until you get used to being tall again."

The boy nodded and immediately seated himself on a wooden stool.

"Last chance to change your mind," Regina cautioned with a hopeful smile.

"I'm not."

"All right."

She called the words of the incantation to her and waved her hand in the direction of the red-haired boy whose serious expression seemed to be too old for his face.

And then, it wasn't.

"Son?" Marco asked hesitantly.

August smiled. "Hello, Father."

* * *

"There's something you need to know about this author," August began as the two got into Regina's car. He was still a bit wobbly on his feet, but managing far better than he had an hour or so ago, when he'd first tried to stand. "He wasn't the only one. There have been many authors throughout time. It's a job, not a person. And the one you're trying to locate was just the last tasked with the great responsibility."

Regina was frowning as she put her key in the ignition. "What responsibility?" she asked.

August was silent for a moment as he tried to find the right words. "To record," he said finally. "To witness the greatest stories of all time and record them for posterity. The job has gone back eons, from the man who watched shadows dance across cave walls and developed an entire philosophy, to playwrights who tell tales in poetry, to a man named Walt. Many have had this sacred job... great women and men who took on the responsibility with the gravity that it deserved... Until this last one. He started to manipulate rather than record. He did something... I don't know exactly what... but something that pushed them over the edge."

"So they imprisoned him in the book?" Regina asked.

"They did," August confirmed. "I found the page ages ago. Um… in Henry's book, as a matter of fact. What I never found, though, was the key."

"I've looked through that book at least a dozen times," Regina protested. "I never saw anything like that door you were describing."

"That's because it's no longer in it," August explained. "When I borrowed the book to add my story to it, I took that page out. If you recall, at the time, I was turning to wood." He smiled bitterly. "Let's just say that you aren't the first person who came up with the idea of getting the Author to write them a happy ending."

"So, where's the page now?"

"Hopefully," August said, "it's with everything else my father gave you to pass on to Henry. And," he continued, "I'm afraid that's really all the help I can give you with finding him. Except for one word of caution," he added. "The spell that imprisoned the Author in the book was very powerful Light magic. That… would seem to imply that he's probably confined in there for a very good reason. Whatever it was he did that got him trapped, it probably wasn't because he wrote down that Cinderella's coach was pulled by six gray horses instead of four white ones."

"You're saying we might not want to let him loose."

"I'm saying that if there's someone out there who can manipulate fate and doesn't have any real check on his abilities, maybe releasing him ought to wait until you can formulate one. Just because you let him loose doesn't mean he's going to be on your side."

"Point taken," Regina replied. "Thanks for bringing it to my attention."

* * *

They drove the rest of the way to the Sorcerer's mansion in silence.

Emma was in the library with Henry when Regina and August walked in. There was a takeout box from Granny's on the table, well away from any books and papers, and the two were clearly having a late lunch. When they saw the new arrivals, Henry immediately set down his sandwich. Emma nearly choked on hers.

"August?!" both exclaimed, nearly as one.

August smiled and held up a hand in a half-wave. "Hi."

"How…?" Emma started to ask.

"Magic." He and Regina quickly filled the other two in on what had been happening. Henry had just reached for the stack of papers to see if the page with the door was among them when they heard a different door open and nearly slam shut, followed by the sound of rubber-soled shoes on marble flooring.

"Who's there?" Regina called.

A breathless Belle nearly flew into the room. "I-I hoped I'd find you here, Emma," she panted.

Emma got up and closed the distance between them quickly. "Well, you did," she said, smiling, as she placed both hands on Belle's shoulders and started to guide her to a chair. "What's up?"

"You-your superpower," Belle's words seemed to tumble out of her. "Your lie detector."

Emma waited. "What about it?"

For answer, Belle reached into her purse and pulled out a cell phone. "Does it w-work on voicemails? I was just checking my messages a-and… there's one from Rumple."

Something about the look on her face made Emma tighten her grip on Belle's shoulders. "Belle?"

"H-he says he's dying."


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

"I didn't recognize the number, so I let it ring to voicemail," Belle said as she passed her phone to Emma.

Emma studied the display. "That's a Manhattan area code," she said at once. "I can do a trace when I get back to my computer to tell you more details, but my guess would be that it's a pay phone." She smiled wryly. "There are still a few of them left, though they're getting scarcer."

Belle nodded nervously. "Why wouldn't he use his own phone?" she asked, sounding like she was dreading the answer.

Emma shrugged. "Could be a lot of reasons, I guess. Maybe it broke. Or he couldn't find a place to charge it. Or he lost it, or it was stolen." She took in the expression on Belle's face. "Hey. Whatever happened to his phone, at least you know that, as of two hours ago, he was alive and in New York."

"Just… play the message, Emma," Belle said, twisting her fingers.

The look on her face was starting to make Emma nervous, too. "Okay," she said, lightly brushing the touch screen with one finger.

"Belle…" The voice was unmistakably Gold's, but there was a note of desperation in it that tore at Emma's heart. "Pl-please don't erase this until you've heard it. I'm sorry." The words were tumbling out, as though he feared that if he paused for breath, she was going to stop listening. "I wasn't going to call. I didn't want to upset you needlessly. I didn't—I-I _don't_ want to hurt you anymore than I already have. But I fear that if I'm silent now and you find out too late, then my intentions will be for naught. Six weeks ago…" There was a long pause. "I was admitted to a hospital here with a heart attack. But that's not what it was…"

As Emma listened to the rest of what Gold was saying, her eyes grew wide and she instinctively wrapped an arm around Belle's shoulders. She wasn't sure if she was only imagining the gasps and sudden intakes of breath from the others in the room.

"…I don't know whether the curse on the town line is still in force or whether you've come up with a way to counter it," Gold continued. "I shouldn't be surprised if you don't want to see me again. But if you can… if you'll do me this one favor…" His voice broke and Emma closed her eyes in unconscious sympathy, as he seemed to choke out the next words, "…oh, I want to see you once more, Belle. Before it's too late." He was sobbing now, his words coming in ragged gasps. "I'll be in front of the New York Public Library every day, for as long as I'm able, hoping that you'll be there. I love you, Belle. I'm sorry I hurt you. Good-bye."

There was a long silence, as Emma passed the phone back to Belle. "I don't know about my superpower," Emma said slowly. "But my gut tells me this is legit. And Belle, Gold had to know you'd come to us with this. He might let his walls down around _you_ ," Emma continued, "but…"

She turned to Regina. "No offense, Regina, but, I just don't see him showing this much… vulnerability to the rest of us, if he wasn't way past caring about image. So." She took a deep breath. "Is there a way that we can go and come back?"

Regina hesitated. "The Snow Queen's scroll got her inside Storybrooke during the curse. It might work now. But," she took a breath, "there's something else we have to consider. In the middle of all of those tears and apologies, Rumple mentioned something else: his condition might be curable if he returns here. So, I think we need to decide now whether we want him back."

"Wait," Emma blinked. "What? How is this even a question?"

"Do I need to remind you that he almost murdered your boyfriend in cold blood? He imprisoned the fairies in the hat and we still can't figure out how to free them. He was ready to take the two of you," she pointed to Belle and Henry, "over the town line and leave the rest of us to kill each other under the Snow Queen's curse. I'm not sure letting him back into town is necessarily a good thing."

"I do still have his dagger," Belle pointed out quietly. "I don't want to have to use it, but if I must, I can."

Regina raised an eyebrow. "So, you've made your choice, then."

"Have I?" Belle asked. "I… I don't know that I have. But I think I owe it to myself to find out. He's dying and he wants to see me. If there's a way to leave town and come back, then I really think I should. As for the rest, we'll… figure it out as we go."

"We?" Regina repeated.

Belle turned to Emma. "You've lived in New York. You'll take me?"

Emma nodded. "Uh… yeah. Sure." She turned to Regina. "So… the scroll?"

Regina considered. "It's currently in my vault. I'll examine it and see if I can ascertain whether the magic that let her pass through the Dark Curse's cloaking spells is still extant."

"Assuming it is," August spoke up, "I'm coming with you."

Emma and Belle turned as one. "You?" Belle asked.

"Why?" This from Emma.

August took a deep breath. "Because," he said firmly, "I owe him."

Regina frowned. "I don't think that's something he can hold you to from where he is. In fact, I'm fairly certain you can consider that debt forgiven. Whatever it is."

August shook his head. "Pretty sure it doesn't work that way. But if anyone's curious about the details," his lips twitched, "I think I want to keep the suspense going for a bit. At least, until you're so anxious to know that you realize that the only way I'll divulge them is if I can go with you. Once we meet up with Mr. Gold in Manhattan, I'll share it all."

"And here I thought this town was done with making deals," Regina quipped.

Emma took a deep breath. "Okay. Assuming the scroll's magic checks out, we'll leave in the morning. Meet in front of Granny's. We'll get some food for the road."

"I know of a couple of decent hotels," August said. "Nothing too fancy, but the price is reasonable and they're clean. How about I call one of them and reserve us two rooms for a week? By then, we should have some idea about what to do for the… long term."

Emma and Belle exchanged a look. Belle nodded slowly. "A week should be enough time," she agreed.

"Okay," Emma said. She looked at August. "Do it."

"Emma?" Belle asked, "Will there be room in your car if I wanted to bring along a few things for Rumple? I… banished him with nothing but the clothes on his back. Even if, in the end, we don't bring him home with us, I'd like to make sure he has a bit more."

"Are you still mad at him?"

Belle sighed. "I don't know what I am. I just know I need to see him again before I'll find out."

"There should be room. We're only packing for a week."

Belle nodded. "I'll see you at Granny's tomorrow. If the scroll will work."

* * *

"So, if the scroll works, I'll be leaving in the morning. It's just for a week," Belle concluded apologetically.

Will Scarlet smiled. "Nah, 't'isn't. But that's all right."

"You think…" Belle shook her head. "Oh, no. No. I'm going to see Rumple because he may be dying and he's asking for me. And, if something here in town can save him, then there's a good chance he'll come back with us. But after the way he tricked me, lied to me…"

"You still love 'im."

Belle sighed. "That's… not the point. I can't trust him. Not after this. Even if I do still…" Her breath caught and she looked away. "I'm so sorry, Will."

"Don't be, love," Will was still smiling. "I went into this knowing I were the rebound lad. I hoped that maybe I could change your mind, but I spot now that's not gonna 'appen. But that's okay. You love him. He needs you. Go ter him."

"I…"

Will shook his head. "One spot of advice, though. Friend to friend. Belle… lovers are… they're like 'ouses, they are."

Belle raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Houses," she repeated, not certain she'd heard right.

"Yeah. Some is almost perfect just as-is. Maybe there's a loose step needs tightening or a room could do wiv a fresh coat o' paint. But on the 'ole? Just about perfect. Ah, but then, there's them what need a lot more work. Leaky roof, buckling floors, shaky foundation. Some of it ya can fix, some ya can't. But it's a hard job."

Belle tried to smile. "You… sound like you're trying to tell me about Rumple."

"Do I?" Will asked, a trifle too innocently. "I thought _'e_ was yer chipped cup. Actually," he continued, his tone turning strangely serious, "I didn't want to talk about houses exactly. I wanted to talk about the kinds of people who go looking for the fixer-uppers. Now, there's some as would ask why they'd go looking for those, when there are so many other houses out there, what don't need the same kind o' work. Well. Some of 'em, the ones what want to do the fixin', they love the 'ouse. They want to get it set so they can live in it. Ah, but some? Some just love the fixin'. Once the repairs are done, they sell it for more'n they paid and move on to another. And then there're some what'll buy a cottage, thinkin' if they put enough work into it, they can turn it into a castle. Course they can't. They can make it a lovely cottage, sure, but it'll always be a cottage. They need to realize that it's not the cottage's fault it can't be a castle. Ain't even necessarily a bad thing. Cottages is cozy. But if all the while you're fixin' up the cottage, you're hexpectin' it to turn out to _be_ a castle, well, sooner or later you start acting like it's the cottage's fault that it's not what you want, when it never pretended to be anything else."

"Now, just hold on one minute," Belle retorted. "Rumple did pretend. That was the whole problem."

Will sighed. "Nah, Belle. The whole problem is that you still think I'm talking about 'ouses. Even when I up and tell you I'm talking about the ones what do the fixing." He smiled. "You like fixing, Belle. Dark Ones. Yaoguais what used ter be princes. Dev'lishly 'andsome sneak thieves. But when yer fixin's done, you move on ter the next one what needs fixin'. Or if the fixin' don't get done, you get upset that it ain't. 'N'en, since a bloke ain't a house, an' since a bloke 'as feelin's, well, 'e wants yer t'be 'appy, don't 'e? So, 'e tries to be what you want. But it ain't 'im. But 'e tries. But then when you think you've done it an' 'e's changed, cor, that's when you start thinkin', well yer work's done, ain't it? And you want somethin' else t'fix, don't you?" He shook his head. "Belle, if you're lookin' for a prince charmin', you don't go about finding one in dark castles or sneaking out of someone's back door in the dead of night. Odds are, any bloke you find in those places is going to be exactly the type a body'd expect t'find there. And if that's where you plant yourself looking for that special someone…" Will shrugged. "Maybe you need to figure out why. And I don't just mean why you fall for them. I mean why, once you've fallen for them, you start trying to change them."

Belle's jaw dropped slightly. "Have… have I been doing that with you?"

Will gave her an easy smile. "Ah, I don' mind it that much. Never 'ad more'n one fork at a time so I don't mind knowin' that when I got two, the small one's for salad. Earning a few honest dollars ain't too bad neither. But that don't mean I don't check for unlocked doors and open windows when I walk down the street at night. And if I find any? I s'pose I might just go in and see if there's anything laying about. Acos, at t'end of t'day, I'm still the same 'andsome thief I was when you said I might keep comp'ny wiv you. And I won't pretend I'm anything other." He shook his head. "It'd be nice if you could learn to love that wivout changing it. But the problem with that is, if you could do that? You'd never have taken up with me in the first place. You'd still be with the Dark One." He smiled sadly. "Where I imagine you're going to be. But that's okay, Belle. Like I said. I'm just the rebound bloke."

Belle stood there for a long moment, feeling like she was about to cry. She didn't want to believe in the picture Will was painting of her motivations, even as too many of his words rang so uncomfortably true in her mind. She was grateful that he was being so understanding about her need to go to New York. And there was a hard lump in her throat that would not go down, because for all his flaws and for all his crimes, when Will had encountered her walking down Main Street in tears on that horrible night, he'd actually left off cutting the burglar alarm wire on the Three Bears Spa's door and taken her to the Rabbit Hole for a drink and an understanding shoulder. He'd gotten her to talk and helped her get through that night and the nights that followed it. He was a good man, for all his flaws. He was right, though. She didn't truly love him. She'd thought that she might, in time. She wanted to. But…

"I'm so sorry, Will," she whispered. "You don't deserve this."

"Eh," Will said with a cheeky smile, "I reckon I don't deserve half of what life hands me. You take care of yourself, Belle."

"You, too." She reached out for him and he hugged her, but it wasn't a lovers' embrace, so much as a parting hug between friends.

"'Ey," Will said hoarsely. "I'll be fine, I will. You know me. Lands on me feet. Always."

* * *

Regina called Emma later that evening to inform her that the Snow Queen's scroll seemed to be functioning the way it was supposed to and Emma dutifully passed the news on to Belle and August. Even so, she felt her heart start to pound as her yellow bug approached the town line the next morning.

Once past it, she made a U-turn back the way they'd come. In the front passenger seat, August glanced sharply at her. "Forgot something?"

Emma shook her head. "Just checking." She sighed with relief as the Welcome to Storybrooke sign came suddenly into view. "It works," she said, making another U-turn. "Now, let's go find Gold."


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

The shelter had furnished him with a pair of canvas shoes that fit, but offered scant protection against temperature or obstacles, and a second-hand winter coat. Rumple was sure that he could feel every crack in the sidewalk and pebble in his path through the thin rubber soles. The coat was old, its cuffs were frayed, and its lining torn, but it was lightweight and it was warm and he had to look closely to see the stains that had, apparently, persisted despite the dry-cleaning which the shelter assured him all donated outerwear was subjected to. He probably should have discarded his suit jacket by now. After all, it was so ragged that even the lowlife in the park hadn't deemed it worth stealing. Tattered though it was, however, he simply couldn't part with it. Those first few days, he'd been conscious every moment that he was missing his tie. He simply couldn't go about in just trousers, vest, and shirt under the coat. Particularly when it was a shirt with empty buttonholes where the cufflinks ought to go. So he wore the coat over the suit and tried not to feel overheated on this mild morning.

He'd left the message for Belle yesterday. He had no way of knowing whether she'd listened to it or erased it the moment she'd heard his voice. He'd never seen her so angry as he had on that night over six weeks ago. Surely, she must have calmed down by now. Perhaps, she regretted sending him away. Or, perhaps, she still believed that she'd done the right thing. He wished he could be certain.

If he knew that she wasn't coming, then he'd have no choice but to… to… Well, he didn't exactly know anymore. If he approached Ursula now, she'd laugh in his face. If she didn't just push past him on the street, pretending she didn't know him. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a store window and froze. That haggard unshaven scarecrow with matted hair and a haunted look in his eyes couldn't possibly be him… could it? If Ursula encountered him now, would she pretend she didn't know him? Or would she honestly not recognize him?

It was a sobering thought.

Rumple made his way up the marble steps of the New York Public Library's main branch and sat down near the top, high enough that he could see the passersby and far enough away from the doors that he wasn't blocking anyone going in or out. Yesterday, he'd sat a bit closer, but he'd dozed off and been awakened by a security guard who had told him firmly that sleeping at the entrance wasn't permitted. Rumple had mumbled an apology and moved off. It left him in a bit of a quandary, though. While Dark Ones didn't require slumber as a rule, out here in a land without magic, the rules were different. He'd learned to his sorrow that it wasn't safe to sleep out-of-doors after dark. He didn't feel any more secure in the shelters either, though they were safe enough for a free hot meal. His only option seemed to be to stay awake as long as he could—preferably at night—and meanwhile, to stay where he'd told Belle he would wait, keep visible, and hope that if he fell asleep, she would still see him and awaken him. He doubted that it would be with a kiss, but he could still dream.

From the sun's position, it couldn't be later than nine o'clock. He meant to stay here until five. Then, he would join the line at a nearby soup kitchen for supper and try to find some place defensible to spend the night. Unless Belle came today.

He could still dream.

And, when exhaustion lowered his eyelids and his head drooped down to his chest, he did.

* * *

The closer they got to their destination, the quieter Belle grew. Emma and August were both familiar with Manhattan, but Emma had lived there more recently and was catching August up on some of the places he'd once frequented.

"I'll miss Big Nick's," August admitted. "They introduced me to crab-cake burgers. Love at first taste, I tell you."

"If you like crab," Emma grinned. "Or huge portions. It was one of the few times Henry couldn't clear his plate." In her mirror, she could see Belle's face pressed close to the window, taking in the scenery. It didn't mean much to her; farms and cows were farms and cows. They were well past Boston now, over the Massachusetts line, and driving through Connecticut.

"Are we nearly there?" Belle asked.

"More than halfway," Emma said. "How're you holding up?"

Belle hesitated. "I… I always wanted to travel. I just never thought it would be for this reason." She tore her face away from the window and took a breath. "I've been thinking about what Regina said before. Are we… doing the right thing?"

"Belle," Emma said, "he's sick, he's scared, and he's asking for you. Whether he should come back with us is debatable. But our going? No way that's wrong."

Belle frowned. "Even after what he tried to do to Hook?"

Emma flinched at that. Then she took a deep breath and let it out. "That's right," she said. "I guess you don't know the whole story on that one."

Behind her, in the mirror, Belle blinked. "I know that Rumple's first wife left him for Hook and… and that Rumple crushed her heart and took Hook's hand. And that Hook's wanted revenge ever since. But I thought that they put that behind them until Rumple…"

Emma shook her head. "It's a little more complicated than that. Sorry. I guess, the closer we get, the more I've been thinking about the last time Gold was in Manhattan." She took another breath. "It was right after you got shot and thrown over the town line. You were still in the hospital. Gold got me to go with him to New York to hunt for Neal." Her voice softened. "We found him, but it wasn't everything Gold was hoping for, to put it mildly. Things were tense all around. And then, Hook showed up out of the blue and stabbed Gold in the chest. It wasn't a deep wound, but he'd dipped his… hook in dreamshade. When Gold called you in the hospital to say goodbye, that was why."

In the mirror, it seemed to Emma that Belle's face looked several shades paler. "Rumple never said a word about any of that," she breathed.

"When did he have time?" Emma asked. "When he recovered, you didn't have your memory. And then you…"

"I was Lacey," Belle sounded like she'd just bitten into a lemon. "And then, the town was almost destroyed and Henry was taken. You all went off to Neverland and when you came back…"

"Pan cast the curse, Gold died stopping him, you guys went back to the Enchanted Forest, and then Zelena and… I guess at that point, the subject wasn't worth bringing up."

"So, why did he attack Hook now?" Belle asked slowly, but without heat. "He was casting some spell; I know that much. But what was he trying to do? The hat can strip away magic, but… which? Whose?"

"I guess," August ventured, "he can tell us that when we find him. And we'll hear him out before we assume the worst, right?"

"August?" Emma asked, "What's your… stake in all this? I mean, Belle's his wife. I know New York, plus Gold is Henry's grandfather. But… I didn't even know you and he knew each other. Unless it was back in the Enchanted Forest. Wait. No, you were a kid back then, right?"

"Right," August agreed. "And I told you I'd tell you everything once we meet up with Gold. But," he grinned, "it's good to know that the suspense is getting to you. It means that you'll be hanging on the edge of your chair when I finally divulge," he dropped his voice melodramatically, "the truth."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Belle," she said, "did I ever tell you about the time he offered to take me out for a drink and he brought me to the wishing well and hauled up a bucket?"

"Hey," August retorted, "you even admitted it was good water."

The tension in the car seemed to dissipate and Belle gave a little laugh.

* * *

There was space in the parking lot on West 44th, between Fifth and Sixth. Belle gave a slight gasp when she saw the board with the rates. "Is it… always this much?" she asked.

Emma sighed. "It varies depending on time of day. When Henry and I lived here, we took the subway a lot. Fewer expensive surprises that way."

"Oh," Belle murmured.

"Don't lag behind," August cautioned. "There are almost three million people in Manhattan on any given day, so it's easy to get separated in a crowd. Emma and I know the city well enough to get to where we're going, but Belle, if you lose us, here's what you need to know: the library is at the corner of Fifth and West 42nd. We're on West 44th. Fifth Avenue is the dividing line between east and west, so if you're suddenly on _East_ 44th, you somehow missed crossing it." He grinned. "I'm not sure that's even possible, but I'm always open to having my preconceptions challenged."

"Got it," Belle said.

"The city's a grid," Emma added. "Mostly, the streets are numbered. Streets run east-west; avenues, north-south. With a few exceptions, like Broadway and FDR Drive. In other words, if we get turned around and find ourselves coming to 41st instead of 43rd, we'll know it right away, so it'll be easier to get our bearings."

"Just because this is my first time out of Storybrooke doesn't mean I can't figure that much out," Belle retorted. Then, a moment later, she averted her eyes quickly. "Oh."

Across the street, on the pavement in front of the Hudson theater, was a woman in a ratty coat sitting on a filthy sleeping bag. A German shepherd was lying on the bag next to her on one side. She had a wheeled hand-cart on her other side, filled with a collection of paper and plastic bags. A hand-lettered cardboard sign tied to the cart proclaimed, "Homeless… Please Help."

Emma shook her head. "Unfortunately, she's not the only one," she murmured.

"Doesn't anyone do anything?"

Emma sighed. "Not enough." She pulled out her wallet and took out a five. "And this is just another drop in the bucket, but…"

She crossed the street, walked over to the woman, and dropped the bill carefully into the open cigar box with a quick smile, Belle and August a half-step behind. "Hope this helps," she said, making eye contact with the woman.

The woman snatched up the bill and shoved it deep inside her coat with mumbled thanks and they moved on.

"This isn't right," Belle murmured. "I can't believe people live like this."

August sighed. "It isn't and they do."

"And nobody tries to make things better?"

August paused. "There are programs. They help. Some. But a lot of people don't qualify. Or there isn't enough funding. Or they fall through the cracks for other reasons. And one of the problems is that if a person lives around this kind of misery long enough? It starts looking normal." He sighed again. "Come on. Let's find Mr. Gold."

* * *

It was only two blocks to the library, but they passed another huddled figure on the way. This time, it was Belle who dropped a handful of coins into the proffered hat. When the man flashed her a yellowed gapped-tooth smile, Belle looked away uneasily.

"You okay?" Emma asked, as the librarian rejoined them.

"Fine," Belle said, but there was a false note to her bright tone. "I just want to find Rumple and get away from here—Oh!" she exclaimed delightedly, as the library came into view.

"Yeah," August smiled. "It's something worth seeing." The three advanced until they stood directly before the marble steps.

"Henry was telling me I should come here," Belle said, taking in the façade and the stone lions that stood before it. "I can see why." Her smile faded. "But… where's Rumple?"

Emma scanned the area carefully for several long minutes. "I was afraid of that," she muttered.

"Emma?"

Emma sighed. "Usually, when tourists talk about the New York Public Library, this is where they mean. It's the flagship building, the one that shows up in the tour guides… But there are over forty library branches scattered around Manhattan and Gold might not know that."

"You mean… he might be at one of these… other branches. But… but we can't check them all in a week!" Belle exclaimed.

"I know. I never did get around to tracing that payphone number. If we can pinpoint where Gold called you from, we can narrow it down. Maybe."

Belle spotted something then and her face fell. "Oh, dear," she whispered, jerking her head in the direction of a ragged-looking man, sleeping at the edge of one of the upper steps. "Here, too?"

August caught his breath. "You two wait here," he muttered. "I'll be right back." He strode toward the entrance at a fast clip.

"August?" Emma called after him. "What are you doing?"

"Hoping I'm wrong," August yelled back, without turning around. "Stay there."

"Where's he going?" Belle asked, puzzled.

Emma's eyes grew wide, as she saw August make a beeline for the sleeping man. "I think…" she started to say, realizing what August suspected and wishing that she didn't think he was right.

"That man must have been here for hours," Belle said. "Do you suppose August thinks that he might have seen Rumple here earlier?"

The hope in her voice tore at Emma's heart as she took a breath. "Belle," she said urgently. "I-I think—"

August touched the man's shoulder gently and he awoke with a start, shrinking against the marble pillar. As he did, both women got a good look at his face. Horrified, Belle staggered back and might have fallen, had Emma not grabbed her arm. "Rumple?" she whispered.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from S4E6: Family Business

**Chapter Six**

He'd fallen asleep dreaming of a time long past and when he woke, for a moment, he was still in the Duke of the Frontlands' castle…

_It had been a hard year and Rumple's village hadn't been able to pay its mandated taxes. Too many lives taken in the Ogres' War. Too few people left to work the farms. The old duke had been benevolent. Rather than turn the peasants out of their huts and leave them to fend for themselves, he'd re-instituted the old practice of corvée—forced labor in lieu of the missing taxes. When Rumple had been called to serve his eight weeks, he had hoped to be assigned to spinning, of course, but the shearing was over and the fleece already spun for the year. Instead, he'd been issued a sheepdog and set to watch over one of the herds while it grazed. He'd tried to stay alert, but the day had been slow and his belly full for the first time in over a month (the duke was a harsh master, but he fed his workers well). With the best of intentions, he'd dozed off._

_He'd awakened to a rough hand on his shoulder and the crimson face of Hordor, the duke's son and heir. The florid youth had rained blows and curses down on Rumple's head in equal measure. Only the duke's timely intervention had saved his life. Even so, Rumple had been compelled to spend an extra week in the duke's service, as a fine for his lack of diligence. And Hordor always seemed to be about, hoping to catch him shirking. It was a miserable nine weeks. And it had all started with that hand on his shoulder…_

* * *

Rumple cringed away from the pressure that had awakened him and scuttled back as far as he could. "Don't hit me!" he cried, raising one arm over his eyes, to ward off the pummeling he knew was imminent. No blows fell. After a moment, he remembered that he wasn't tending sheep at the duke's castle. And that the library security guards weren't in the habit of assaulting people. And that while robberies might happen, even in broad daylight, they were unlikely in so public a space. At any rate, he realized, the touch probably hadn't been the prelude to an attack. Cautiously, he lowered his hand and found himself looking into the worried face of a man in his mid-thirties. Rumple's eyes narrowed. He recognized this person from somewhere, though he was having a hard time placing him at the moment. He didn't believe that it was one of the volunteers from the shelter or soup kitchen. But he definitely knew him from somewhere.

"Gold."

Hearing the stranger speak his name—a name that nobody in this city ought to know—brought memory crashing in on him with only slightly less force than it had on the evening that Emma Swan had first checked in at Granny's. "Booth!" This time, Rumple tensed, but didn't resist when the younger man clapped a hand to each of his shoulders and drew him closer. "How…? Why…?"

 _How did you find me? How is it that you've aged once more? Why are you here? Why do you greet me as though we were old friends, when our relationship has never come close to approximating that?_ Questions whirled in his brain, but the words refused to pass his lips. He was drowning in a wave of homesickness. He felt his face twist and his eyes were burning and he couldn't let himself break down, not here, not now, not in public, not in front of Booth—who surely wouldn't be reaching out to him with a concern that eroded every defense Rumple had erected to protect his feelings, if the younger man didn't have some angle, not…

Booth pulled him into an embrace and Rumple buried his face in the cool brown leather jacket. And then, he didn't give a damn about where he was, or what Booth must think of him or want from him, or who might be watching.

"It's okay," Booth whispered, as he gently patted Rumple's back. "It's okay. Let it come."

He shouldn't. He couldn't afford the cost of a cup of coffee right now, let alone the cost of letting anyone who knew him realize how wretched he felt in his current circumstances. He needed to wrench himself loose and say something dry and cutting to let Booth know that he didn't need anyone's pity. He had to… had to…

A strangled sob burst from Rumple's throat. And then, his tears began to flow in earnest.

* * *

Belle could barely breathe. The library plaza blurred and spun before her as her knees buckled. When she'd sent Rumple away, she'd known on some level that she'd banished him with nothing but the clothes on his back, but it had never occurred to her that he could be reduced to… She couldn't face him. She couldn't face the others and see their disgust reflected in their eyes. The Snow Queen's mirror had been right.

_I made a mistake. I didn't mean to…_

_Ruin someone's life? It certainly wasn't your most heroic moment. Not that you've ever really been hero material._

_No, please… Please stop…_

She had done this. She'd learned that he'd lied to her—had been lying to her—practically from the moment they'd been reunited after Zelena. And when she'd gone to confront him, she'd found him seconds away from crushing Hook's heart. She'd been horrified and furious and hurt, and in her pain, she'd reduced him to... She watched Rumple collapse into August's embrace atop the marble steps, and she felt her heart break. She'd never meant for him to end up like… this.

_Didn't you?_

Of course not. She'd had to send him away, where he couldn't use his magic to harm anyone else. Where he couldn't lie his way back into her good graces. But she'd never intended for him to…

_You didn't want to hurt him back? Not even a little?_

No. She hadn't…

She had. And he'd still wanted her to come. After everything she'd done to him.

_And how do you know that he didn't set this whole thing up as part of a calculated plan to get you to relent and let him come back home? Your instincts haven't exactly been the sharpest where he's concerned. What if this is all a plot to wreak some new mischief on Storybrooke or regain access to his magic?_

Or maybe, she just didn't have the courage to face him now and she was looking for excuses.

Rumple was still kneeling atop the step, slumped in August's arms. In another minute, they would both be on their way back here. In another minute, she would have to confront him, talk to him…

She couldn't. She simply couldn't.

Belle jerked her arm out of Emma's grip, whirled on her heel, and ran.

* * *

August felt the phone in his hip pocket vibrate, but he ignored it. Whoever it was, whatever they wanted, it could wait. Now that he was an adult once more, he had his memories back and he could recall full well what it had felt like to be dying of an ailment nobody in this world could believe, let alone cure. He remembered what desperation had driven him to do—and the second chance he'd gotten, even though he hadn't deserved it. He knew exactly what it had meant for him and what his presence now had to mean for Rumpelstiltskin. His phone could wait.

A moment later, Rumpelstiltskin pulled free, but instead of moving away, he cast about looking for his walking stick and, finding it, slid forward so that he was sitting on the edge of the broad marble step.

August hesitated. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the empty space beside him.

Rumple shrugged and tried to sound as though it didn't matter to him in the slightest. "Well, it _is_ a public stair." A pause. And when he spoke again, his tone was softer and the edge had gone out of it. "But thank you for asking."

August gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and sat down. "I… think this is probably where I'm supposed to lie and tell you you're looking good," he said, and flashed a quick smile when he was rewarded by a snort. "I guess you're having a time of it."

"I don't recall you being particularly given to understatement in the past." Rumple frowned. "How did you find me?"

"Emma did," August said, after a pause. "We got your message yesterday and left Storybrooke this morning."

Rumple blinked. "We?" he repeated, trying to scrounge up the courage to ask whether the person he'd most wanted to see was here in New York, as well. But at least he'd already confirmed one thing: Booth hadn't come alone. And if Emma was here too, then perhaps, he would be able to obtain the ink that the Author would require to write him a happy ending, after all. Things might just be looking up for the first time in weeks, he thought, as he tried to pay attention to what Booth was saying now.

"You made it pretty clear that you didn't actually have a heart attack a few weeks back, but I didn't know whether a major shock could be a problem for the condition you described." August smiled apologetically. "Figured I'd bring you up to speed slowly—maybe try to help you without accidentally killing you in the process. Yes. Belle's here, too. She and Emma are down there…" he gestured toward the plaza below and his smile gave way to a frown.

"I-I don't see them," Rumple said, looking down anxiously.

"No," August was still frowning. "Me neither. Hang on," he said. "I got a text a few minutes ago. Maybe they had to sit down somewhere or…" He read the text and his frown deepened.

"Well?"

August reread the text, hoping that this time, it would say something other than ' _Belle just freaked and took off. I'm going after her. Meet at car._ ' No such luck. Here was hoping that telling a white lie wasn't going to start his turning back to wood again.

"They went to look for a…" He cast about for a plausible excuse. "Um… ladies' room. Emma said they'd meet us at the car."

It sounded like a weak excuse to August's ears, but Rumple only nodded. "Should we head there?"

"No rush," August said. "It can be hard to find facilities that are open to the public around here. I'll just text Emma to let us know when they're on the way to the parking lot." At least, that wasn't a lie.

Rumple nodded again.

"Hey," August said. "It's going to be okay."

And right then and there, he had no idea whether _that_ statement was true or false.

* * *

Belle didn't know where she was going; she only knew that she had to get away. There were too many buildings, too many people, too many cars, too much noise… She couldn't think. She could barely breathe. But she ran.

Emma caught up with her at the corner. "Belle!" she panted, gripping her friend's forearm. "Hey. Talk to me."

Belle shook her head. "I can't… I never meant… I…"

"I know," Emma said. "It was a shock to me, too. I don't think anyone was expecting to find him looking like that."

"I should have," Belle mumbled. "I banished him with nothing. Somehow, I thought he'd manage. I never…"

"Yeah."

Belle faced Emma with tears in her eyes. "When he called, I had to come, but now…" When Emma said nothing, Belle continued, "I did this to him. How do I face him, when I'm the one who put him in this state?"

"I played that voice message," Emma reminded her. "It didn't sound like he was blaming you. If anything, he was blaming himself."

"I know," Belle replied. "He said all the right things. All the things that would have had me taking him back in a heartbeat before."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "What are you trying to say, Belle?" She gestured vaguely back the way they'd come. "You think… what? That he staged that whole thing on the steps? Lied about his heart?"

"I don't know!" Belle cried. "Even when he tells the truth, there's a lie in it somewhere! What if he does come back with us and does something even worse, this time?"

Emma brought her free hand to Belle's shoulder. "What if he doesn't come back with us and he dies?"

Belle seemed to crumple. "I don't know what to do," she whispered. "I still love him. I always will. But…"

"You're scared."

Belle gulped and nodded. "My parents told me to always do the right thing. Until now, I thought I knew what that was. But when it comes to Rumple…"

Emma waited.

"It's complicated," Belle said finally.

"Yeah."

"If I forgive him, if he comes back with us and betrays me—o-or the town again, I don't think I'll be able to handle it. I don't know that Storybrooke will. But if I leave him here, I sentence him to death. How can _that_ be the right thing?"

Emma squeezed her shoulder and Belle took several gulping breaths. "And I know he's scared, too. He has to be. And I've always been able to be strong, to-to be _there_ for him when he needs me to be. You know he can't abide being seen as weak." Belle sniffled. "I think, for the first time… I am. Seeing him that way. And I don't want to hurt him."

"Do you think turning your back on him will hurt less?" Emma asked, fighting to keep her voice neutral and wishing Archie was with them.

Belle's eyes filled with tears and she squeezed them shut as she shook her head from side to side. "I'm all mixed up," she whispered. "One minute I want to help him, the next I want to go back to Storybrooke without seeing him. Only I have seen him and if I don't help him, I'll never get that image out of my mind. I love him still. But part of me _hates_ him for making me see the monster I tried to pretend wasn't there, and… and hates _myself_ , because if I'd admitted it sooner, maybe things would have been different and-and we wouldn't have had to come here and I wouldn't have seen him like that and I'm the one who did this to him!"

"Hey." Emma wrapped an arm around Belle's shoulders, a bit awkwardly. "Hey."

"I told him I lost my way trying to help him find his," Belle whispered. "Why does it feel like all I did was keep moving down that same dark path without him?"

"Belle—"

"How can I call myself 'Good' if I did this to him?" Belle demanded brokenly. "But how can I think of myself as 'Good' if his Dark plots succeed only because I let my love for him blind me to the truth?" She shook her head. "I don't know what to do," she whispered. "I just… don't know what to do."

Emma had just opened her mouth to reply, when she felt her phone vibrate. Automatically, she fished it out of her pocket and saw August's text: _Where R U_? She sighed and squeezed Belle's shoulder. "We're here for a week," she reminded her friend. "We have a week—minimum—to figure things out. You don't have to do anything right now but come back to the car. I'll tell August to meet us there with Gold."

Belle nodded slowly as Emma began to text. "Emma?" she asked nervously. "D-do you think I could sit up front this time? I was in the back seat the whole way down, after all." At Emma's unblinking stare, Belle seemed to wilt once more. "You just reminded me, we have a week. I… I don't know that I'm ready to talk to Rumple, yet. And I don't want to accidentally give him false hope about coming back with us when all this is done."

Emma sighed. While she understood Belle's worries, she really thought her friend was behaving a bit more harshly than necessary. Still, she had a feeling that she was going to have to pick her battles and she didn't feel like having one now. She tried to fight down her irritation before she replied. "Sure," she said. "Sure, you can. But can you answer me one question, first? The same one Regina asked you yesterday? Have you already decided about that last part?"

Belle blinked. "What? No! No, of course not! If he's truly—"

Emma cut her off smoothly. "Then it's not giving him false hope to let him think he might come home at the end of all this. It's just plain hope. And I'm not going to keep that from him." She debated with herself for a long moment. Then she took another breath. "And Belle? Whether you and he stay together? That's your business and nobody's going to interfere without your asking. But whether he comes back with us? That's not just your call. I don't know where I stand on things right now. Thankfully, we're not voting on anything today. But in a week's time—or later, if it turns out that's not long enough? If August and I both want to bring him back… he's coming in the car with us." Irritation rose once more, and this time, she couldn't quite suppress it all. "But don't worry. You won't have to share the back seat with him for six hours, unless you want to."

Belle flinched. Then she swallowed hard and nodded. "Fine," she mumbled.

"Now," Emma continued, "let's go meet them at the car."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

 

August pocketed his phone with a tight-lipped frown. _Thanks, Emma_ , he thought sarcastically. It wasn't her fault, of course. Someone had to break it to Rumpelstiltskin, though, before he found out for himself—in the most painful way possible. And since Emma was with Belle, that someone was him. "Selfless, brave, and true, huh?" he mumbled under his breath. "Someone's _really_ putting the second one to the test." He sighed and turned to Rumple.

"Bad," Rumple said, making it a statement, not a question.

August sighed. "Could be better. I…" He took a breath. "Just so you know, when Belle got your message, she burst in on Emma, Henry, Regina and me like she'd been out-pacing every car on the road."

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "Your point?"

August sighed again. "You and I are sharing the back seat on the drive to the hotel," he said. "She's taking the front."

Rumple absorbed that. "I take it that the…" he coughed, "…facilities weren't needed then." He shook his head. "She doesn't want to see me."

"If that were true, then she would have stayed in Storybrooke," August reminded him. "Look. Just because she's still mad as hell doesn't mean she doesn't love you. But… just because she loves you doesn't mean she's not still mad as hell."

Rumple nodded and didn't quite manage to avert his eyes before August saw the pain reflected in them. "I trust it won't be far to the hotel."

"A few blocks," August confirmed. "It's not exactly the Waldorf, but I've slept in much worse."

"As have I," Rumple nodded again.

August hesitated. "Just so you know, we've got two rooms there for a week. Beyond that… nothing's been decided. Not for you, and not against you."

"If you're wondering about the truth of my condition, you're more than welcome to contact Robin Hood. He can vouch for me."

"I wasn't," August replied. "We've got at least a week to figure this out. For now… let's just take things one step at a time."

Rumple turned so that he stood facing August directly. "Why are you here, Booth? Why do you care?"

August rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" He asked with mock exasperation. Then he smiled. "Hold off until suppertime. I promise I'll explain, then." He looked down the street and waved. "They're coming."

* * *

It wasn't the reunion Rumple had been hoping for. Emma was friendly enough, but Belle's "Hello, Rumple," was cool, perhaps even reluctant, and she would not meet his eyes. Normally, he would have had no trouble reading her, but the Belle who had banished him from Storybrooke had been a woman he hadn't known. The Belle he knew would have been angry, yes. But she would have heard him out. She would have understood his reasons. She wouldn't have condemned him for wanting to guarantee that he would be in a position to protect his family, even if his methods of doing so weren't hers.

 _She wouldn't have written him off as his first wife had_.

He winced as that thought surfaced. He hadn't really meant to lump Belle in with Milah. He'd loved three women in his life. And he hadn't been enough for any of them. Milah had abandoned him. Cora had rejected him. And Belle had exiled him. But she'd also come to him now, when he'd called, which was more than any of the others had ever done. And he still loved her. And Booth, at least, had given him some small reason to hope.

"Belle…" he whispered, half-pleading.

She wouldn't even look at him. "I brought you some things," she said softly. "They're in the trunk."

"Right," Emma said at once. "Here, let me get it open." She gave him a quick smile. "I think I saw her pack a decent coat, at least."

There was more than a coat. Rumple saw a half-dozen familiar garment bags and two bulging valises that had come from his storage closet. For a moment, a smile passed his own lips as he thought about wearing clean clothes for the first time in nearly two months. Then he realized that Belle had brought him far more than he needed for only a week. His smile dropped and he drew a shuddering breath. Then he turned and gave August a furious look. "Nothing's been decided, yet?" he demanded harshly. "What's left? The style of hand-cart I'll need to truck this about with me?"

Belle went pale and a horrified look crossed her face. "Gold!" Emma exclaimed, as August gripped his shoulders. "What's—?"

"Hey," August said at the same time. "Hey, take it easy. It's not what you're thinking."

And then, he felt a warm hand press on his icy one and he looked up into a pair of blue eyes that were a great deal softer than they'd been a moment ago. "Rumple," Belle interjected quickly, but with a gentleness he'd nearly despaired of hearing again, "nothing _has_ been decided." She sighed a bit self-consciously, and for a moment, she sounded like the woman he knew once more. "I knew I'd sent you away with nothing and… I guess I got a little carried away trying to make up for it." She took another breath. "We're staying the week. And then… I guess… we'll have to see." She waited for him to nod. "I didn't realize that you… wouldn't have room to store any of this," she added. "I wouldn't have packed as much for you if I had."

He took another ragged breath. So, they hadn't just come to drop off his personal belongings and drive home in the morning. Belle was still in tune with his thought processes enough to grasp immediately what had gone through his mind when he saw his luggage. And, evidently, she still cared enough to reassure him that his assumption had been mistaken. Perhaps… there _was_ still hope. He nodded once more.

Now Belle's lips did twitch into a tiny smile. Then she withdrew her hand, turned away abruptly and walked to the front of the Beetle. She opened the passenger door and climbed in without a backwards look.

Emma sighed. "I… guess we'd better get moving, she said, closing the trunk. She motioned to the two men to follow her and she opened her own door and lowered the seat so that they could get in the back.

 _Yes, perhaps, there was still hope_ … _Just not very much of it._

* * *

Objectively, it took less than twenty minutes to reach the hotel, and it would have been quicker had there been less traffic.

"Just keep your head down," August murmured, holding up the coat Belle had brought him from Storybrooke so he could slip it on. Gold nodded and pretended he didn't hear Emma's sudden intake of breath or Belle's choked-off gasp when he removed the coat he was wearing to reveal the state of the suit below.

 _I don't need your pity, dearies_ , he thought furiously. He didn't say it, though. One misstep, just one, and they might decide to leave him here and head back. And while he didn't truly think that one sharp retort would be the determining factor, he knew that they were going to be watching him closely for any signs that he had 'learned his lesson'. Or hadn't.

His life was on the line and he _had_ to go back with them. He bit his lip and slipped his arms into the sleeves of the black woolen coat.

* * *

The hotel clerk still eyed Rumple suspiciously when they walked up to the front desk to check in. He hung back several steps behind the others, recognizing that an expensive coat couldn't quite mask his overall... scruffiness. And he was all too aware that he couldn't recall the last time he'd taken a shower. He'd tried to keep up appearances as best he could. Before his cash had run out, he'd invested in deodorant and a spray bottle of fabric refresher. But there was only so much one could do when one didn't have a change of clothing and after two weeks, he'd had to admit that his efforts in that area were pointless. He hadn't though, until he'd used up both products. He thought now about that morning a month ago when, in a frenzy, he'd sprayed the refresher over his suit from shirt collar to trouser cuffs, not stopping until the bottle was empty and the suit saturated. For all the good it had done him. He'd even tried the roll-on deodorant, figuring that the fabric was already ruined. All he'd achieved had been some disgusted looks from passersby and the realization that people were holding their breaths and noses as they hurried past him. He looked away now, not wanting to see that disgust reflected in the clerk's eyes.

Rumple supposed that he could point out that the sign over the desk stated only that service would be withheld to those lacking shirt and shoes and he had both. But there was another sign on the desk itself, declaring that the establishment had the right to refuse service to _anyone._

He gave a start when Emma came up to him and, seemingly oblivious to the state of his hygiene, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a conspiratorial wink. "August?" she called, "I think Dad wants to get cleaned up."

Rumple blinked. "Dad?" he whispered, incredulous.

Emma winked again. "Play along," she mouthed. "Subtly." Then, she closed her eyes and let out a despairing sigh. "Don't you know me, Dad?" she asked in an anguished tone. "I thought the pills were supposed to help with your memory. Wait." She shook her head. "Don't tell me; you forgot to take one this morning. Hang on."

She glanced at Belle. "Belle, they're in one of the outside pockets of one of the valises." She frowned. "I think. If we can just get up to our rooms, I'll check."

"Perhaps, we ought to open the bags here," Belle suggested, catching on.

Rumple's lips twitched. So, Emma wanted him to play the confused old man, hoping that it would put an end to the clerk's scrutiny, did she? Not a bad idea, but if he was any judge of character, 'subtle' would go right over the head of the buffoon at the desk. No, it would take something a bit more obvious. And he did have some pent-up frustration he could draw on. "What is this place?" Rumple demanded, making a show of trying to break loose. "This isn't home. I want to go home! Take me home!" He was aiming for disoriented and panicky, but he was shocked at the note of pleading in his voice. Perhaps he shouldn't have been; acting was always easier when you had life experience at-hand to throw into a role. He'd already broken down once today, though. He had no intention of doing so again. "Take me home!" he ordered once more, venting some of the anger he'd been hiding, as he swung his cane against the leg of a wooden coffee table for emphasis.

"Dad!" Emma groaned. "Dad, it's okay. This is New York. We're here on vacation. It's fine. Here," she clutched at his arm. "Here, come sit down.

"Belle, get his pills. Check all the bags if you have to." She laid a hand on Rumple's shoulder and met his eyes.

"I know," she said softly. "I hope you can."

She looked over her shoulder. "Belle, just dump the stuff on the floor, we've got to find that vial."

In an undertone, she murmured to Rumple, "and if _that_ doesn't get us into our rooms fast…"

"Got it," Belle grabbed one valise and pulled back the zipper.

"...It will be because the clerk called security to have us thrown out," Rumple retorted, also in a murmur.

"Uh, ma'am?" The clerk waved frantically to Belle from behind the desk. "Ma'am, please! There's no need for you to do that."

He looked over at Emma. "Mrs. Booth? Mrs. Booth!"

Emma didn't react to the appellation until Gold nudged her. Only then did she realize that the clerk was addressing her and she turned back to the desk, hoping that her surprise didn't show.

"Mrs. Booth, your husband's just checked you in. Your rooms are ready. You can take your father on up. Did you want to bring your bags with you, or shall I have a bellhop bring them?"

"Uh… We'll take them."

* * *

As the elevator doors closed behind them, Emma gave August a hard look. "My _husband_?" she asked, her voice rising an octave on the last word. "Seriously?"

Rumple snorted. "A moment ago," he remarked calmly, "you had no difficulty claiming me for your father. And yet, when Booth invents a similar family tie, you suddenly get yourself up in arms."

"Yes, fair's fair, Mrs. Booth," Belle, murmured, pretending interest in the metal paneling of the elevator car's interior.

Emma rolled her eyes though, while she tried, she couldn't quite conceal her smile. The two of them were finally agreeing on something. As she'd hoped. Well, she couldn't say she was thrilled that they'd joined forces to tease her, however gently, but she'd take it. "Fine," she pretended to scowl, "yuck it up, you guys. It worked, didn't it?"

"That it did, dearie," Rumple said approvingly.

"Hey," August said, "I had my reasons for it."

Emma smiled. Maybe it was only temporary, but they'd just come together as a team, however briefly. The tension that had hung over the four of them on their way to the hotel seemed to have vanished, even if only for now.

Emma wasn't foolish enough to think that everything was going to be smooth sailing from here on out. She was still going to be sharing one room with Belle, while Gold and August took the other. But just for a moment, they'd been united toward a common goal and it had felt good to her. She had a feeling it had to the others as well. "So did I, August," she replied. "So did I."


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

True to August's word, the hotel was adequate, if not luxurious. The rooms were comfortably-sized, carpeted in non-descript grayish broadloom. The furniture was made of light brown wood, solid and serviceable. There were a few framed landscape prints on the walls, heavy on earth tones—a theme that was picked up by the brick-red, tan, and brown tartan fabric of the bedspreads and curtains. There was a faint smell of lemon furniture polish when Emma unlocked the room that she and Belle would share. While she was hardly one to run a white-gloved hand over a tabletop checking for dust, she noted that she didn't see a speck of any such stuff on the furnishings nor a spot on the carpet. She smiled and walked the rest of the way in so Belle could follow. Then she looked over her shoulder and nodded at the two men standing in the doorway. "You did good, Booth."

"Glad you approve," August grinned back. "I guess Gold and I'll get settled in next door." He looked at his watch. "It's just about lunchtime, but I've still got a couple of sandwiches from this morning and there's a deli about three doors down if you don't and you're hungry. How about we just relax for a bit and we'll have a late supper around eight? I know a place not too far from here."

"Do we need a reservation?" Emma asked.

"We would if we were going early," August replied. "But we're in the theater district. The restaurant I have in mind is the kind of place where people stop to have dinner before catching a play. Try it around six or seven and it's packed. By eight, everyone'll be off to the shows and we'll have the place pretty much to ourselves." He paused. "We can talk then."

"Yes," Belle said. "I… guess we all have questions."

"Well, hopefully," August said, "some of us have answers, too. See you in a bit."

* * *

Once inside the other room, August turned to face Gold. "Actually," he said, "I do have a couple of questions for you right now."

Gold sighed. "I'd prefer they keep until dinnertime," he said wearily. "Today has been difficult."

"I figured," August replied. "They won't take long. First," he took a deep breath, "when was the last time you had a hot shower? And second, when was the last time you slept on a mattress?"

Gold flinched and lowered his eyes. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper, he admitted, "Almost seven weeks."

August nodded, unsurprised. Then he reached out and laid a hand on Gold's shoulder, causing the other man to look up in shock. "Go ahead," he said, waving a hand toward the half-open bathroom door. "You can have the first shower. It's not even two o'clock yet; you've got plenty of time for that and a nap. Uh… sorry," he said, breaking off from whatever he'd been about to say next. "You probably haven't had lunch either. Do you like Swiss and mustard or should I go grab something else for you at that deli?"

Gold jerked loose of August's hand. "Why are you doing this?" he demanded raggedly. "What do you want? Why do you care?"

August sighed. "In reverse order? I care because I spent almost ten years on and off the streets. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Well," he hesitated, "if I've got to be honest, I guess I should remember that there _was_ this travelling puppeteer who kidnapped me and locked me in a cage. Maybe I wouldn't shed any tears if it were him. But I don't wish it on you. I… want you to believe that. And, as for your first question, as I was telling the others earlier… I owe you."

Gold blinked. "How?" he asked, bewildered.

August raised his eyebrows. "You really don't know," he stated with a disbelieving smile.

Gold gave a slight shake of his head, frowning now. "I keep track of every favor owed me, dearie, and as far as I know, your ledger page is blank."

"Then there's an accounting error in there somewhere," August returned. "I'll clear it up tonight. Meanwhile," he sat down on one of the beds, kicked off his shoes, swung his legs up and stretched out on the tartan spread, "try to relax. If you're okay with the sandwiches I've got, I'm going to lie down for a bit, but don't worry. He smiled. "Despite my origins, I don't actually sleep like a log. Well, not normally, anyway. If you do want me to make a deli run, just say so." He sat up for a moment, making eye contact with Gold, who responded with a slight head-shake. August smiled and flopped back down to the bed. "Okay," he continued. "In that case, the sandwiches I brought in are in the cooler bag; you can have 'em both if you want. If you're still up in a couple of hours, you can wake me if I've dozed off." He shut his eyes and rolled onto his side.

Gold regarded him searchingly for a moment. Then he moved slowly to the wall beside the door, where they'd set down their bags. He unzipped one of the valises and, not finding what he'd hoped, opened the second one. He discovered his electric razor and other toiletries in an inner compartment. Armed with those and a change of clothes, he made his way to the bathroom, walking as quietly as he could, so as not to disturb Booth.

When August opened his eyes several hours later, he saw that the cooler bag was open and half of one sandwich remained. Gold was curled up on the other bed in a clean shirt and trousers. The matching jacket and vest hung neatly over the back of the wooden desk chair, together with a tie and a pair of polished black shoes. His hair was damp and his face clean-shaven. And he was sound asleep.

August smiled. Then he slowly eased himself off the bed and tiptoed off to take his own shower.

* * *

The restaurant was dimly-lit, with dark carpeting and a brick-walled interior. The booth to which Emma and Belle were escorted featured a rectangular table with a blue-and-white checkered tablecloth. A padded L-shaped couch was built into two sides of the booth and a second, modular one surrounded the other sides of the table. On the center of the table, a lit candle floated in several inches of water inside an opaque red glass globe. Emma could smell onions frying from somewhere behind them and jazz music played softly in the background.

"I'm not sure I'd expected August to pick someplace like this," Belle remarked, taking it all in.

"I'm not sure what I was expecting," Emma replied with a slight laugh. "To be honest, we never really got to know each other all that well before he got… de-aged." Her phone vibrated and she pulled it out and read the text.

"August," she said, setting down the phone. "They'll be here in a few minutes. They decided they'd rather walk than take the subway."

Belle nodded. "To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind doing that on the way back," she admitted. "It was so loud."

"You get used to it," Emma grinned, "but I hear you. I would've driven, except… you saw the price of parking earlier today."

Belle nodded again.

"So," Emma said, her smile vanishing, "any idea what you're looking for? With Gold, I mean."

Belle sighed. "I don't know. I'm… sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to run off. It was just… a shock."

"Yeah, but afterwards you barely said two words to him. I mean, if your mind is already made up, that's one thing. But if it isn't, how are you going to decide if you won't talk to him?"

Belle shook her head. "I wish I knew. I trusted him, Emma. I believed in him. Even when I started seeing signs that he was reverting, I told myself I was imagining it. Until I had to face the truth."

"Yeah," Emma nodded. "Thanks for saving Killian, by the way. The thing is, nobody's denying what he did before. The question's whether to give him another chance."

"And you think I should."

"I don't know what to think," Emma sighed. "But we should hear him out, at least."

"And you don't think he'll just tell us what he thinks we want to hear."

Emma gave her a pained look. "Of course he will. Wouldn't you? If we go back to Storybrooke without him, we'll be leaving him alone, scared, and dying. If I were in his place, I'd promise just about anything to come with us. That's… not exactly something to condemn him for."

Belle winced. "But how can we trust that he won't do something worse next time?"

Emma hesitated. "I don't know. I'm hoping we can find out. And I want to give him the chance to show us." She raised her water glass and took a sip.

Belle nodded. "You know… Will said something interesting last night. He said that I'd rather… fix people than… than love them for who they are."

Emma set her glass back down on the table. "Oh?"

"Yes," Belle nodded again. "Only… only, I mean…" her words tumbled out at a rush, as though she was confronting Will and not Emma, "what's wrong with wanting people to be better? Was I supposed to just smile and turn a blind eye when he wanted to kill people or blackmail them or…"

"No," Emma replied. "Of course not. But… okay. I guess I can relate a little. I mean, Killian has been trying to be a better person. I never asked him to be. I never expected it of him. But somewhere along the line, he made that choice."

"Because he loves you."

Emma flushed. "Yeah, that's part of it, I guess. But it's only part. I… was talking to Smee a couple of weeks ago. He told me that even in the Enchanted Forest, when Killian didn't think he'd ever see me again, he'd changed. Maybe he started letting go of what happened in the past, I don't know. But there are some things about him that probably aren't going away, even if I wish they would. He's got a temper. He makes sexist jokes and sometimes talks like he's going through a list of pickup lines. He overreacts when he thinks he's being insulted." She frowned. "I don't think his drinking is a _problem,_ exactly. I mean, there's a difference between drinking too much because you crave alcohol and drinking too much because that's how you deal with stress. I feel pretty safe in saying that he's in the second category." She sighed. "I've got some lousy coping strategies, too. He accepts them. My point is, I decided when we started going out that I was going to have to accept that he wasn't whatever my idea of the perfect man would be if I'd ever sat down and tried writing it down. He's got some of the qualifications," she smiled, "or I'd never have given him the time of day. But he's not exactly what I anticipated. And it cuts both ways. I'm probably not how he'd pictured his perfect woman. He's never expected me to change for him and I don't expect him to change for me." She hesitated. "Which," she went on with a rueful smile, "is probably a good thing. Because trying to be what someone else wants you to be gets pretty exhausting after a while, you know."

"Does it?" Belle asked softly.

"I'm a bail bondsperson," Emma reminded her. " _Was_ a bail bondsperson before I became sheriff, I mean. My job was tracking down people who'd skipped out on their court dates. And when I found out where they were, sometimes it meant I needed to put on an act in order to meet them face to face so I could bring them in." She thought back. "The night Henry found me, I'd just come back from bringing in a guy who'd embezzled from his employer, got caught, and left town before he could be thrown in jail. I found him on an internet dating site. And I caught him by… creating a profile and reaching out to him. We messaged each other online. I'd done my homework. I knew what kind of women he was into and I gave the answers I knew he wanted. He asked me out. I met him. And I made a citizen's arrest."

"Nice."

"No," Emma shook her head. "Not really. And all I really wanted to do was go home, have a birthday cupcake, and take a long hot shower until I didn't feel so… slimy." She smiled. "Instead, I answered a knock on my door and met the son I'd given up for adoption ten years earlier." Her smile faded. "My point is that trying to be someone you're not isn't easy. Even when it's only for the short-term, you're constantly on guard, trying not to slip up and let the real you show. It doesn't always get easier the longer you do it. Because the part of you that you're hiding away keeps trying to come out. Now, it's one thing if it's business. I had a job to do. I just had to play the part until we actually met. But marriage? Long-term commitment?"

Belle shook her head. "Even if that's true, he let me believe that he'd changed. Our marriage was built on falsehood. Why couldn't he have said something?"

"Would you have accepted it?"

Belle's jaw dropped. "If he'd come to me, if he'd been honest, then yes. Of course."

"Even though you've left him in the past when he's let his darker side surface."

"That's not—"

Emma kept talking. "And now, he'd be coming to you telling you that he wanted you to accept that his darker side was a part of him. Even if you would have been okay with it… given your track record, how could he know that?"

"He still should have been honest with me," Belle maintained, raising her own water glass.

Emma regarded her silently, waiting for her to lower the glass before she spoke again.

"You've got a point, there," she said finally. "About your wanting to change people for the better. Maybe it's something ought to discuss with Gold, try to figure out where your… deal-breakers are, where you're willing to compromise, where you aren't..." She shrugged. "Spelling things out is probably a good place to start. You don't have to tell him it was Will who got you thinking about stuff."

Belle blinked. "Of course, I couldn't tell him about Will!" she protested with a slight laugh, which died abruptly when she took in the expression on Emma's face.

"Seriously?" Emma asked slowly. "Because, as much as the two of you tried to tone down the public displays of affection, I'm not the only one who noticed. I don't think anybody would go out of their way to tell Gold about it, but don't you think it's possible someone could let something slip by accident? It'd probably be better if he finds out from you, first."

"Emma!" Belle exclaimed. "I-I can't tell him about Will. He wouldn't understand. Anyway," she sighed, "it's over. We… broke it off last night. So, there's nothing _to_ tell. And besides," she added, "if he were to find out now, it would only hurt him. I can't do that to him, especially not on top of everything else he's been going through."

"Okay," Emma said. "I hear that." She sighed. "Well, at least, after this conversation, I guess we can say we've realized one thing."

"We can?"

Emma nodded. "How easy it can be to rationalize keeping secrets from someone you care about. Even when you know that however bad it might get if you tell them, it's just a fraction of the fallout you'd have to deal with if they learn the truth some other way." She shook her head. "You know," she said softly, "I'm not surprised if that's what Will was thinking. On the surface, from what I've seen, it never really struck me that you and Gold had much in common. I guess… maybe I'm starting to see it now. And Belle? Common ground isn't exactly a bad thing in a relationship. I'm just saying."

Belle's hand flew to her mouth, as Emma half-rose and waved at the entrance, where Gold and August had just walked in. "Guys," she called, projecting her voice so that it carried across the room, "over here!"

* * *

Gold was wearing one of his customary dark suits with a silk tie patterned with alternating deep purple and dark blue bands, but his step was hesitant, and he was missing the aura of power and confidence that such elegance usually lent him. He followed a half-step behind August, his posture tense and his expression uncertain. Emma greeted him with a warm smile and if Belle's was slightly more reserved, it was, at least, genuine. As Belle and Emma occupied one of the L-shaped couches, Gold and August took the other, which placed Gold across from Emma, with Belle to his left and August to his right.

Almost immediately, a server appeared with four menus under one arm and a pitcher of ice water in his other hand. Once their glasses had been filled, he withdrew leaving them to look over the options.

"I fell in love with this place a few years back," August said. "They've got a split-pea and barley soup that tastes almost the same as my father makes." He smiled. "I'm not sure I've got the heart to tell him that; he swears that the recipe's a family secret."

Emma studied her own menu. "How are the potato skins?" she asked. "I'm not really in the mood for soup."

August's smile widened. "Extremely cheesy."

"Excellent."

Gold cleared his throat. "I…" he kept his gaze focused on the salt shaker, avoiding eye contact. "I apologize for being remiss earlier. I neglected to thank you for coming here." He closed his eyes, "I'm truly, _truly_ glad to see each of you."

Belle bit her lip. "I'm glad you did call," she managed. "I've been worried about you. I never meant to…" Her voice trailed off.

Gold smiled sadly. "Of course you didn't," he said. "You couldn't have foreseen what leaving Storybrooke would do to me. I didn't realize the severity of my condition until the attack." He took a breath. "After what I did, what I tried to do, I… I know you must have reservations about allowing me to return with you. So." He looked up for the first time, gazing from Belle to Emma to August. "What must I do to convince you?"

When Belle didn't reply at once, Emma tentatively leaned forward. "I… I don't want to bring up the past, but I guess I have to for this one. The last time you were in New York, you told us that the cure for dreamshade poisoning was also back in Storybrooke. You didn't tell us it would mean taking someone else's life to save yours. Or that my mother would end up darkening her heart in the process. I'm sorry if this feels like déjà vu all over again, but if something similar is going to happen this time, I think we need to know now."

"Understandable," Gold nodded, "but I assure you that this time, the cure needed for my condition will not require anyone's life. Nor will it involve darkening the heart of anyone in Storybrooke."

Emma smiled. "Okay," she said with no small relief. "That's a load off. As far as what it'll take…" She looked from Belle to August. "I don't know," she admitted. "I guess we'll just take things one day at a time until I— _we_ —do. We've got the rooms for a week. After that, if we're still not sure, maybe we can extend things." She shook her head. "Suddenly, I wish I'd kept my old apartment, even after I made up my mind that Henry and I were staying in Storybrooke. The rent was a big expense I didn't see a point in paying, but it would have come in handy as a place to crash if we needed one."

"Like you could have seen this coming," August remarked, sounding distracted. The grave expression on his face belied the lightness in his tone.

"I know," Emma sighed. "I was just saying."

The server came back to take their orders. After he'd gone, Gold took a breath and turned to August. "Earlier today," he said seriously, "you promised me you'd explain your reasons for coming here at dinner. I believe that time has arrived."

"You mean," Belle said, "August hasn't told you either?"

"Yeah, Booth," Emma said, "we've been waiting… _semi_ -patiently for this for more than a day, now. Start talking."

"Okay, okay," August laughed, raising his hands in surrender. As he lowered them, his playful expression vanished, replaced by one that was equal parts solemn and apprehensive. He pressed his lips together several times, laced his fingers together, and flexed them. "Sorry," he said ruefully. "I… guess I had a couple of reasons for putting this off. First, I wanted us all together so I'd only have to tell it once. And second, I guess I was procrastinating, hoping I wouldn't have to tell it at all." He took another breath. "Even though I promised," he added. There was no hint of a smile on his face now, as he squared his shoulders and leaned forward, steepling his fingers on the tabletop. "I've done a lot of things I regret, you see. Since you guys know my story already, well, I guess you know I did a lot of stupid, _thoughtless_ things in the past. Stuff I don't like remembering now, even though I still do from time to time. The thing is… I may have been immature and naïve and _flighty_ as a kid. Puppet. Puppet-kid. But I don't think anything I did back then was really that bad."

He turned to Rumple. "What I did to you _was_ ," he admitted. "I knew it then. I know it now. I never apologized for it when I had the chance. And then I… got rebooted, as it were, so I didn't remember it."

"Hang on," Belle broke in. "August… what did you do?"

"I'm getting to that," August said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He shook his head. "Mr. Gold, I knew I was taking my life in my hands pulling that stunt. I went back to my room that night surprised that you hadn't killed me and counting myself extremely lucky." He smiled for the first time since he'd begun speaking. "But you didn't stop there, Mr. Gold. And what you did afterwards placed me in your debt in a way I didn't think I'd ever have a chance at repaying." He lifted his water glass to his lips and drained it. "Until today." He took a breath and started to say something, but then he broke off and sat frowning, seemingly lost in thought.

"August?" Emma asked.

"Sorry." He let out a sad sigh. "I guess I should probably start at the beginning…"


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Homage to/rip-off of S4E22: Operation Mongoose Part One in this chapter. Also, for those who haven't guessed August's deep dark secret… Bear with me a teeny bit longer? This chapter had to end where it does.  
> A/N: According to the Legalmatch website, adoption reversals, while rare “might occur when the relationship between the child and the adoptive parents is so poor that neither party is benefiting from it anymore. The court might also allow a reversal of an adoption where the adoptive parents are no longer able to care for the child. They will not, however, grant petitions for reversal simply to free the adoptive parents of the responsibilities of taking care of a child.”

**Chapter Nine**

 

"Emma knows some of what I'm about to tell you," August said. "And I'm pretty sure that Mr. Gold figured out a lot of the rest. But considering that Belle wasn't around for most of it, let me just give you a bit of background."

"I do believe you may be stalling, Mr. Booth," Gold said mildly.

August shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe I just need to ease into it. Okay. Back in the Enchanted Forest, I went by 'Pinocchio'." He sighed and flashed a long-suffering smile, as he rattled off in a slightly bored voice, "My father carved me out of a log from an enchanted tree and the Blue Fairy brought me to life. At first, I was still a puppet, albeit a moving, thinking, feeling one. But," he warmed to his topic, "after I… earned it, she made me flesh and blood. With one caveat: the gift was permanent, so long as I stayed 'selfless, brave, and true'. At the time, that didn't seem so hard; I'd learned those lessons during my… _mis_ adventures. But then, we learned that the Dark Curse was coming to transport us to a land without magic. And my father panicked."

"What do you mean?" Belle asked when August paused.

"Glad you asked. When Blue came to Father and me and explained what was going on, as you can probably guess, neither she nor we knew much about where the curse would take us. I'm not sure how much most of us would have understood, even if we could have seen this world ahead of time. I mean, thirty years later, airplanes and video games are still pretty magical to me. And don't get me started on refrigeration." Emma noticed that Gold and Belle were both nodding understandably at that. August grinned. "Back on-topic, Father had a concern that the curse might neutralize the magic that had brought me to life. So, he arranged for me to go through the same wardrobe that brought you here, Emma," he smiled at her, "and made me promise to watch out for you."

"Wait," Belle said. "How old were you?"

August hesitated. "That's… complicated. Anyway. Emma and I arrived and were put into the foster system. It wasn't a good situation and, when most of the other kids in the group home decided to run off, I went with them." He looked at Emma. "I wanted to take you with me, but you were a baby and we couldn't take care of you on the run. So."

Emma nodded unhappily. Her experiences in the system weren't August's fault. She knew that. She'd been adopted at the age of four months, but when she'd been three, her new family had had the adoption reversed. She rarely spoke about it. Adoption reversals were so rare that most people she'd told about it had informed her that they didn't exist and that she must have misunderstood or been making up a story for attention. She still wondered how her new-and-now-former parents had been able to convince the judge that they were no longer able to care for her, when the truth was that the woman she'd called 'Mommy' had become pregnant and decided that they could only afford to raise one child. She'd gone back into the system, but she could hardly blame August for that situation. Had he been around at the time of her adoption, she doubted very much that the family that took her would have been interested in an older boy, so she would have been separated from him, in any case. She still felt a wave of old anguish wash over her as she remembered, though.

"Well," August continued, "time passed. I grew up. Sometimes in the system, sometimes on the street. Eventually, an outreach organization got hold of me and helped me get my GED and get into trade school. I discovered I hadn't forgotten my Father's lessons in carpentry and I was able to make a decent living. Eventually, I did some traveling and ended up in Thailand. And," he sighed, "one fine morning, I woke up and discovered that my leg had turned back to wood."

"Some spell?" Belle asked.

"Some spell deteriorating," August corrected. "Remember, I was supposed to be 'selfless, brave, and true'. Instead, I was selfishly looking out for number one, running away from my responsibilities, and…" He flushed guiltily. Then he reached into his pocket and set a stack of bills on the table.

"You… know," he said, "that I was the reason you ended up in juvie."

Emma nodded again. "What's that for?" she asked, waving at the money.

"Well, after I convinced Neal to leave you high and dry," he flinched at Gold's angry start, "we met up again once more while you were… in there. He gave me the paperwork on the bug and some money and told me to make sure you got both. I agreed." He lowered his eyes. "I made sure you got the car. The money was how I got to Thailand. I meant to give it to you one day. But meanwhile, there went 'true'."

Emma locked her hands around the edge of the table and rose to her feet. "You-you…"

"Now, you know part of the reason why I was putting off telling you all this," August mumbled. "So. I didn't honor the conditions of my transformation and the spell was wearing off. I tried to find a way to reverse the process, but… land without magic. Well, mostly. I figured if there was an answer, it would be in Storybrooke. So I hopped on the next plane back to the States and motored in. And then… well, let's just say I never forgot my roots. And there's one thing I sort of didn't mention yet. About twelve years before Henry brought you to Storybrooke, I'd made the discovery that this land isn't as 'without magic' as any of you might think…"

* * *

_Perhaps it was understandable, given his origins, that August had never lost his fascination with subjects that this new world tended to file under mythology and folklore. It intrigued him to realize that, in a 'land without magic,' there seemed to be so many books devoted to tales of magic, alchemy, astrology, and the occult. And then, there were the fairy tales. The first time he'd come across a book of them, he'd gone back and forth between laughing, wincing, and shaking his head in disbelief. There was so much that it had gotten hysterically wrong, but so much that it had gotten incredibly right. He didn't know how this was possible._

_At first, he'd thought that the book of fairy tales only proved that he and Emma hadn't been the first from their world to cross over to this one. Then he'd realized that the stories he'd come across were far older than the book that collected them. He'd found his own story, just as distorted as the others, and been astounded to learn that it had been published for the first time—and with cringingly inaccurate illustrations—a century before he'd arrived here. He wasn't a hundred years old! Who the hell was this 'Carlo Collodi' and how had he been able to write any of this?_

_A one-word answer had suggested itself: Magic. Oh, August had kept telling himself that it wasn't possible, that this was a land without magic, that magic couldn't exist here. But he was hard-pressed to find a better explanation._

_When he'd started researching magic spells, he'd discovered the same phenomenon he'd found with the fairy tales/distorted histories. So much of what was written on the subject was horrifically wrong. And yet, there was so much that jibed with what he knew of it from his early years that he couldn't dismiss it…_

* * *

"I had a similar reaction," Gold nodded, his interest seeming to overshadow his earlier anger, at least, for now. "Of course, my cursed memories included most of those stories, so for twenty-eight years, I knew no better. And, when I did, my shock was rather eclipsed by other matters."

"Makes sense," August said. The server placed a large bowl of soup before him and he took a moment to thank him. He waited until the others had their starters before he went on. "Anyway, I should probably mention that a few months before I met up with Baelfire, I was invited to meet with a publishing company. At least, that was what I believed. I'd been trying my hand at writing. Actually," he shrugged, "I'd noticed that there were suddenly a whole lot of unconventional fairy tale retellings being published. And by 'suddenly', I mean 'after 1983'. I can give you a few titles: _Ella Enchanted_ , _Spindle's End, The Wishing Spell_ … and just a few blocks away from where we're sleeping tonight, over at the Martin Beck Theater, a show by the name of _Into the Woods_ ran for nearly two years. Now, correlation isn't necessarily causation, but I do think it's a hell of a coincidence that it's really been in the last thirty years that so many of these… alternate versions have been published. But, with the exception of _Shrek_ , I didn't see much of _me_ out there. So, I figured I'd give it a shot. I mean, if this stuff was popular? After all, they tell you to write what you know and I thought I knew myself pretty well."

He looked down at his bowl and took a spoonful of soup. "Hang on," he said. "Sorry. It's getting cold." He ate the rest quickly.

"Okay," he said. "Sorry. Good soup. Anyway. So, I wrote my autobiography and sent it out. And I heard from an outfit named Star Publishing, based right here in Manhattan, actually."

"Are they a small press?" Belle asked with a slight frown. "I pay attention to publishing catalogs and I can't say I've seen one with their offerings."

" _Very_ small," August said with a faint smile. "In fact, they might have only published one book. And no, not mine. As it turned out, they weren't interested in my manuscript. They were interested in _me_." He reached for a bread roll and ostentatiously dipped his knife into the butter.

Emma sighed. "You're waiting for someone to ask it, right? Fine. I guess it's my turn. Why?"

"Glad you asked," August smirked and Emma shook her head in feigned annoyance. "Well, I didn't quite know at the time. I showed up at the office and it looked like it had been thrown together pretty quickly. You know, IKEA furniture, no receptionist, pretty basic, made me think it was some fly-by-night outfit that would probably be gone in a week…

* * *

_It had been a weird letter to receive. The only message had been, "We would like to meet with you immediately." It had simply been signed 'Star Publishing' with no contact name and August had debated whether to bother going at all. He'd heard of scam artists pulling stuff on unsuspecting writers._

If they tell me they want me to shell out any money up front, I'll walk out _, he promised himself, as he motored toward West 37_ _th_ _and 8th._

_He found the building with no difficulty, parked his motorcycle, and took the stairs up to the second floor. Suite 216 turned out to be a large, nearly-empty studio with arched double-casement windows running along two of the walls. There was a desk in a corner with a chair behind it and two more chairs facing it. When August looked behind him, he saw a filing cabinet three drawers high and three drawers deep with two more chairs next to it. Apart from a hat rack, there were no other furnishings. And there was nobody in the office besides him._

It's a setup, _he told himself_. It has to be. They're about to tell me that my book is the best thing they've ever read, but because I'm an unknown, they need me to put up half the printing cost out of my own pocket and I'll get it all back and then some when it hits the stores. Once they have my money, their phone will be mysteriously disconnected. I'll come back here and there'll be a new logo on the door and nobody here will have even _heard_ of Star Publishing.

_He didn't need that. He turned on his heel and was about to go, when a voice behind him called, "Mr. Booth."_

_When he whirled around, startled, he saw an elderly man with long greying hair and a slightly-unkempt beard seated behind the desk. He stood for a moment, his jaw gaping slightly. The office had been empty a moment ago. The only way in or out appeared to be the door through which he'd just come. And yet, he'd somehow not spotted the man until now. Something screwy was going on. "Uh…" he began, feeling a bit flustered. "Yes, I'm August W. Booth."_

_"_ _Yes," the man said. "I know who you are. Please. Take a seat."_

_Despite his earlier intent to leave, there was no thought of disobeying that warm voice. He approached the desk and sank into one of the facing chairs. As he watched, the old man set five different pens carefully down on the desk between them._

_"_ _Uh…" August began, "this is the first time I've been called to meet with a publisher and I'm not really sure how things work. I guess you're interested in my manuscript, right? Is there a contract? I'd like to have my lawyer look it over." He didn't have a lawyer, of course, but the old man didn't have to know that. He just didn't want to feel pressured into signing away who-knew-what on the spot._

 _"_ _You may find us somewhat… different from other firms," the man rumbled. He gestured toward the pens on his desk. "Choose one."_

_August smiled uncertainly. "You have different styles of corporate pens?" He realized then that the implements were unmarked. No logo, no company name, nothing to indicate that the publisher hadn't just walked into an office supply store and grabbed a handful at random. "I-I don't understand."_

_"_ _Choose one," the old man repeated._

_Something was definitely screwy here. "Okay," he said, unconsciously scooting his chair back several inches, "what is this? Some kind of psych profiling? What's next? If I were a tree, what kind of tree would I be?"_

_"_ _This is a test," the man replied. "We need to know what kind of writer you truly are. Choose the one that calls out to you."_

_August wanted to protest further, but there was something about the other man's tone that wiped away any additional arguments. He stretched out his hand slowly, examining the pens before him. He had no idea whether there was a right answer or whether his hunch about psychological profiling had been dead on. But a choice had to be made. He took a breath and picked up…_

_"_ _I'm sorry," the old man said. "I'm afraid you aren't to be our next author, after all."_

 _"_ _What?" August asked, blinking in confusion. "Because I picked the wrong pen?"_

 _"_ _Because the right pen didn't pick you. It would appear," and now there was a hint of sadness in the eyes that seemed brown one moment and gray the next, "that Fate has other things in store for you."_

 _"_ _So, that's it then?" August demanded. "You got me all the way down here for nothing? Wait," he said suddenly. "This is because I mentioned I had a lawyer, right?" The old man_ was _a scam artist. Once he'd realized that August was wise to him, he'd quickly decided to get rid of him and call the next sucker on the list._

_The old man shook his head. "No, Mr. Booth. It's simply that, for the work for which we're hiring, we need someone with a bit more distance from the material."_

_"_ _I don't even know what the material is!" August protested._

 _"_ _You know it better than you realize. And," and there was that sadness again, "I suspect that you'll recognize that a bit more clearly before you know it."_

 _"_ _What?"_

 _"_ _Some gifts come with strings attached," the man said. "You never do know when someone will choose to pull them."_

 _"_ _I don't—"_

 _"_ _Good day, Mr. Booth. Oh." The man seemed to suddenly think of something. "Mr. Booth, before you go… Think of this as a consolation gift. Well. Besides the pen; you may keep that as well." He reached into his desk drawer and extracted a slender hardcover with a green cloth binding. "I think you may find this informative."_

 _"_ _I don't understand." August was almost pleading now. Nothing the man was saying made sense. Nothing that had happened since he'd walked into this office had made sense. "Is this something you've published? Is this to give me an idea of what you're looking for?"_

 _The man shook his head. "No, Mr. Booth," he said gently. "This is to give you an idea of what_ you _should be looking for. Or rather… who."_

_He held out the volume and August took it. There were no words on the front cover, nor on the spine. He opened it and looked at the fly leaf. What he read there sent his heart rising into his throat._

 

**In twenty-eight years, you must make sure the savior believes.**

 

_He looked up wildly. "WHO ARE—?" His words died on his lips. The old man, the desk, the chairs, the pens… They had all vanished. He was alone in an empty studio._

* * *

August paused there and only then did the four realize that their main courses had arrived. August picked up a Buffalo wing, tore a piece off, and put it in his mouth.

"Who was that old man?" Belle asked.

August finished his wing. "I have my suspicions," he said dryly. He turned to Emma. "What I read on that flyleaf was just about the last thing my father said to me before he sent me through the wardrobe. At the time, that had been sixteen years ago."

"And the book?" Gold asked, his expression intent.

August took a deep breath. "It was an excerpt from a somewhat longer work. And, about twelve years later, when I got a chance to look at the original, I realized that the version the old man had given me wasn't an exact copy. It was close, but the style was a little different."

"The storybook?" Emma asked.

"Yes. Well. One story out of it." He looked at Gold. "Yours."


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Gold asked with a slight frown, "Mine?"

"Well," August replied, shifting a bit uncomfortably, "I doubt it covered _everything_. But it did tell a lot about how you became the Dark One, what the dagger does, and… why you created the Dark Curse in the first place."

"I see," Gold said tightly. "I must admit that what you're telling me explains a few matters I'd wondered about at our first confrontation."

"So, you know where this is going, then," August nodded and, while his voice was calm, he wasn't meeting Gold's eyes anymore. "I figured you'd catch on sooner, rather than later. Now. Of course, since I'd been reading a lot of fairy tale retellings over the last few years, I wasn't sure how much of what I was reading could be believed. But I _was_ in this world because of a Dark Curse and this story _did_ give a perfect explanation for why it was cast, and why it couldn't have been you doing the casting. Plus," he smiled, "I remembered one chance meeting, which took place back in my puppet days, and which seemed to lend a hell of a lot of credibility to what I was reading now…"

* * *

_He'd never been on a boat before. While the other boys ran around gleefully, climbing the rigging, raiding the galley, and roughhousing to the point where only the sailors' timely intervention—and some netting strategically placed beneath the bowsprit and rails—had kept several from being washed overboard, Pinocchio was content to lean over the side, looking out at the sea in wonder._

_He was a curious boy and he had questions—everything from why the boat didn't sink with so many people on it to why the crew called ropes 'lines' when they were uncoiled. Most of the sailors were too busy to reply, but there was one—whom he'd heard called the 'bos'un'—who seemed to enjoy talking to him. The bos'un was gentler than the others, for all he seemed accustomed to rougher, ruder types. And sometimes, when he'd taken a swig or two from a flask he carried on his belt, he even told Pinocchio stories about his earlier adventures under a different captain.  
_

_"_ _Yes," the bos'un told Pinocchio on the second night aboard, "once I got my hands on a magic bean."_

 _"_ _A magic bean?" Pinocchio had repeated in awe. "Wow! Uh… what's a magic bean do?"_

 _"_ _Well," the bos'un said, "it lets you travel between realms. Now as for me myself, I like traveling on the sea well enough, but one realm's all I need. I'm late of visiting another one, but I was lucky to escape it with my life and I'm in no hurry to go back, nor seek out any other."_

_"You've been to another realm!?" Pinocchio exclaimed in awe._

_"That I have. And, perhaps, some other night I'll tell you a bit about it. But it's bad form to start a new story in the middle of an old one, or so my former captain told me once. So. Other realms. Whilst I've no desire to go beyond this one anymore, there's some as would, had they only the means. And, since magic beans are hard to come by, such people are more than happy to buy or trade for one. Now," he continued, seeming pleased to have an audience, "it happens I knew of such a one. A wizard whose true name is seldom spoken for fear he might…" he paused, dropping his voice to an ominous whisper, "…hear it!" He lunged, stiffening his fingers into claws and Pinocchio squeaked and cringed back, before he realized that the bos'un was only teasing._

_"_ _Oh," he said, forcing a laugh and trying to pretend he hadn't been scared. "But what would he do if he heard it?"_

 _"_ _I don't know," the bos'un admitted. "But since he's so powerful, it's best not to draw his attention. Because it might annoy him, and you do NOT want to annoy the Dark One."_

 _"_ _D-Dark One?" Pinocchio stammered._

 _"_ _That's what they call him when they don't want to speak his name," the bos'un nodded._

 _"_ _That's what_ who _calls him?"_

 _"_ _Everyone. Well. My former captain calls him 'Crocodile', though I don't know whether he'd do so to his face."_

 _"_ _Why do they call him the Dark One?" He was far more interested in magic people than magic beans._

_The bos'un hesitated. "I probably shouldn't be talking this much about him," he said slowly._

_"_ _Oh, please!" the wooden pupped cajoled. "I'd rather hear about a wizard than some old bean, any day!"_

_The bos'un sighed. "Now, it's only rumors, you understand. Some of which probably aren't true. So, if you should ever meet him—and it'd be better you didn't—you'd best not repeat everything I tell you. They're things people told me and I believe them, but if they were lying to me, why then, I'm believing lies and passing them on as though they were true. Do you understand me?"_

_Pinocchio nodded, even as he wondered how the bos'un could be fooled. After all, whenever_ he _lied, everyone knew it at once. "I think I maybe do," he said, trying unsuccessfully to see the tip of his nose and check whether it had gotten longer._

 _"_ _Good lad. Uh… puppet. Well," he said, "it's said that the Dark One was once an ordinary man with a son he loved more than anything. But it's also said that he was a coward." It was a hot night and the bos'un pulled off his red wool cap and used it to mop his brow. "He became the Dark One to overcome his fear, but not long afterwards, his son was lost to a land without magic and the Dark One's been trying to find him ever since."_

 _"_ _A land without magic?" Pinocchio repeated. "What's it like over there?"_

 _"_ _Well," the bos'un admitted, "I can't say as I know. I've never been to any place like that. But," he said, suddenly smiling, "I can tell you that the place where this ship is bound? It's a wondrous, magical place where you can play and have fun all day and all night too, if you wish. You're going to have so much fun on Pleasure Island, I don't think you'll ever want to leave it."_

_The puppet smiled. "Thank you… mister."_

_The bos'un smiled back. "You can call me Smee."_

_"_ _And I'm Pinocchio."_

* * *

Gold's eyebrows shot up. "I was aware that he and the pirate had parted ways before the Dark Curse was cast," he said slowly. "It explained his presence in Storybrooke, while the captain remained back in our land under Cora's protection spell. I didn't know of your connection to him."

"No reason you should have," August said easily. "I hadn't thought about him in years. If you know anything about Pleasure Island, I think you can guess what nearly happened to me and, maybe, you can appreciate that I tried blotting that whole adventure out of my head. However, when I read your story in the old man's book, I remembered the conversations with Smee. See, because of the distortions in those fairy tales I'd looked into—both the classic versions and the retellings—I've learned to take most of the plot points with a certain amount of skepticism. I figure they're about as accurate as when the movies tell you something's based on a true story. But the plot points in the book I'd been given lined up pretty closely with the stories Smee told me on that ten-day voyage. I still wasn't sure if it was accurate on all counts. I mean, even a stopped clock is right twice a day." He hesitated. "There was something else in the book, though, that still doesn't make sense to me, though it explains why I… thought magic would work in Storybrooke before the curse broke—and I'll get to that in due course," he added.

"But getting back to that whole screwy interview... Well, the message on the flyleaf—as you can imagine—freaked me out. But it also reminded me of how far off-track I'd gotten." He looked at Emma. "You and I had been separated for years. By the time of that interview, I had no clue what you looked like or where to find you. The internet hadn't really caught on at that point; it was there, but finding stuff was a lot harder and the idea of doing a search on your name didn't cross my mind. I was beating myself up mentally over how I'd left you behind, but honestly, I was pretty close to just… buying a couple of beers to drown my sorrow and moving on." He hesitated. "Then I saw the table of contents in the book. It wasn't very long. The story and a couple of appendices. But one of those appendices had instructions on how to make a locator spell."

Gold blinked. "Indeed?"

"Yeah," August nodded. "I'm sure it'd be crude by your standards. I mean, I know the ones you do are potions you pour onto something belonging to the person you want to find. This one was extremely general: it would hone in on someone from another realm, provided you included an ingredient from that realm in the recipe. Dunk a witch-hazel rod in it and, instead of divining for water…"

"Yes," Gold nodded. "I'm familiar with that variation. Crude it may be, but it does have its uses. In fact, had Cora not provided me with a better method, and had I not had a talented finder in my debt," his eyes flickered in Emma's direction, "it's how I would have searched for Bae after the curse broke."

Emma lowered her eyes with a slight smile.

"Yeah, well, when I cast it, it worked. Despite being in a land without magic. Anyway, getting back to the story, I set out on the trail, only when I was almost there, I realized that every now and again, the stick would pull in two separate directions." He glanced at Emma. "I'm guessing that you and Baelfire probably weren't together every hour of every day."

Emma nodded slowly.

"I'm still not sure how I was able to make that potion in a land without magic," he continued, "but once I realized that I was actually tracking two people from our realm, well, thanks to the book, I had a pretty good idea who the second one was."

"Might one inquire," Gold asked with a faint smile, "what the object from our realm was that you used in crafting that spell? I suspect that your answer will furnish the explanation."

August smiled. "Well, unlike Emma, I didn't have a baby blanket. And the clothes I'd brought with me were long gone. I had a string leftover from my original… form, though I was sentimental enough not to use it. For all I knew, the spell would dissolve it. But… _I_ came from that realm, too. I figured a few drops of my blood would work."

"I thought as much," Gold said, his smile widening. "Outside Storybrooke, the only magic in this realm comes from the magical objects that made the crossing." His expression turned pensive. "Though, in light of the tale you've been telling tonight, perhaps it's time to revise that view. However, even if you're correct about magic existing here, that doesn't have any bearing on why your locator spell worked."

August frowned. "Okay. Now I'm confused."

"Yeah, you're not the only one," Emma interjected.

Gold was still smiling. "Even if you hadn't been given life via a magical spell," he said, "as you reminded us earlier this evening, your father carved you from the wood of an enchanted tree." At August's surprised expression, he nodded. "You were able to make magic because you _are_ magic. I believe that your particular situation provides the only reasonable explanation for how that spell could have worked."

"Wait," August leaned forward. "Are you saying I'm a magician?"

"Not at all. A wand possesses magic. That doesn't make it a wizard. But some spells don't require a wizard to cast them." He glanced at Emma. "Your own parents cast the Dark Curse the second time, correct?"

"Uh… yeah, but only after Regina showed them how."

"Yes, but if one needed to be a wizard to cast it, obviously, they would have been unable to do so, even with such direction. Some spells are like that: follow the instructions and achieve the results, regardless of whether you possess magical power in your own right. Of course, should things go awry, as often happens when one is an amateur at the craft, the results are often catastrophic."

"Now you tell me," August groaned. "Okay. Getting back to the story, once I realized I was picking up two blips, well, Gold, with your story fresh in my mind, I thought I knew who the second one was. I wasn't positive, of course, but I figured out a way to check. I had my typewriter handy and I loaded up a blank sheet and typed out one sentence: I know you're Baelfire. I figured if he was, he'd react. My hunch paid off." He shook his head. "I'm sorry for what happened next, Emma. I knew you had to come to Storybrooke to break the curse and," he looked at Gold apologetically, "I knew that once he found out that that was where _you_ were, he'd probably head for the opposite coast. And thinking back…" His voice trailed off.

He sighed. "Okay. I've been telling the truth up to now and I'm going to keep going, even though I'm not sure if any of you are going to want to talk to me after this. I think that what happened next was… me trying to scare you straight. I wanted you to have your best chance, Emma. But in order to do that—"

"You got Neal to rat me out to the cops!" Emma snapped, as Gold's expression hardened.

August winced. "Not trying to make excuses, but I think I can blame my messed-up childhood for why I thought it was a good idea," he mumbled. "Look. If you know my story, you know I wasn't exactly a model child. Model _of_ a child, maybe. But I was influenced by the people I hung out with, and the next thing I knew, I was on the road to becoming a juvenile delinquent, I was thumbing my nose at authority, and I didn't wise up until I'd almost turned into a donkey. When I found you, you and Baelfire were robbing gas stations, pulling con jobs, and worst of all, you were getting away with that kind of crap without any real consequences. I rarely listened when _my_ conscience tried telling me I was doing the wrong thing. I doubted things would go differently if I confronted you. But I figured you probably weren't a hardened criminal, yet, and maybe facing some real-world consequences would be enough to—"

"I don't believe I'm hearing this." Emma was seething. "You had no right—"

"I know! But I couldn't just waltz back into your life after seventeen years with a story we all know you would've dismissed out of hand. I mean, it took your son biting into a poisoned turnover to get you believing in magic. How the hell would you have reacted if I'd told you that I was Pinocchio, your parents sent you here from the Enchanted Forest to break a curse, and I was supposed to keep you on track? I mean, even now, it sounds crazy and we know it's the truth!" August shook his head. "I was trying to do the right thing. But that doesn't change the fact that I screwed up and I'm sorry."

Emma took a deep breath and blew the air out from between clenched teeth. "Tomorrow, I'll probably forgive you," she said slowly. "Tonight? I don't think you have any concept of how pissed I am."

"I might surprise you on that," August said slowly.

"Only on that?" Gold asked with deceptive mildness. "As fascinating as this account has been, I believe you've yet to clarify the nature of the debt you think you owe me. I'll confess to being somewhat intrigued as to how you've come to that conclusion."

"I know," August said with a half-smile. "You haven't called me 'dearie' once since we got here. Okay." He took a breath. "I guess you're right. I've been stalling. Okay." He took another breath. "So. About eleven years after my meeting with Baelfire, Emma arrived in Storybrooke. And when she made the decision to stick around for a bit, well, let's just say I realized what that old man had been trying to tell me about some gifts having strings attached…"

* * *

_He woke up in a haze at 8:15 on a Phuket morning, next to the beautiful black-haired woman who'd been sharing his living quarters and his bed for nearly three months. His head was pounding, he felt stiff all over. Especially his right leg. It was about the only part of him that didn't ache, but it did feel heavy and strangely numb. He pushed back the bedclothes to get a better look. And what he saw made him panic._

_He awakened Isra, only to find that she couldn't see the transformation. To her, his leg looked just as it always had, but he knew better. His transformation from puppet to human had been contingent on his being selfless, brave, and true. He'd been none of those. He'd had eleven years of hedonism, paid for with money he'd been entrusted with to give to another and now, the payment was coming due._

_"_ Some gifts come with strings attached _," the old man had once said. "_ You never do know when someone will choose to pull them. _"_

_He tried to get help, both medical and magical. Both avenues failed him. And then, he thought of another option. Smee had told him stories of the Dark One's power. If anyone could heal him, perhaps it would be he. But magic always came with a price. He was paying one such debt already. Whatever the Dark One would want of him, August knew the price would be high. August had no money. And recent experience seemed to prove that he was a worse thief than he'd ever been a convincing liar. He had no idea what the Dark One would demand of him if August went to him cap in hand, as it were. But perhaps there was some other way._

_Smee had spoken of a dagger that could control the Dark One. And the book corroborated its existence. If August could get his hands on that, then he might just get his cure for nothing…_

* * *

"So," Gold said with a bitter smile, "that was when you concocted the scheme to pose as my son."

"YOU _WHAT?!_ " Emma cried, loud enough for most of the few other customers in the restaurant to turn in their direction.

"How could you?" Belle demanded at the same time.

August slumped and seemed to shrink as he studied the bones from his chicken wings. "Desperation, recklessness…" His voice dropped to a mumble. "Figuring that if half of what Smee had told me about the Dark One was true, then anything I did to him was no more than he deserved." He turned his head toward Rumple, even as he kept his eyes on the wing bones. "I know an apology doesn't come anywhere close to making up for it, but I also know it's the least I owe you." He looked up nervously and met three pairs of eyes in turn. Two were angry. The third was unreadable, but August thought he might have caught a glint of… something and that the something wasn't entirely hostile.

"Well," Gold said slowly, "an apology is more than I'm generally accustomed to receiving. And, I suppose I've some understanding of what desperation can lead a person to do. But you worked off that debt to me long ago, when you helped to steer Ms Swan on her path to belief."

Emma glowered at that, but she wasn't really upset to find out that August and Gold had been working together then. Remembering her own obtuseness, much as she hated to acknowledge it, the manipulations had probably been warranted. At least, with regard to her lack of belief. What August had done to Gold, on the other hand…

August shook his head. "I-I know," he replied. "I'm sorry for the long backstory, but the apology is something separate that I should have given you long ago. Would have, if I hadn't lost my memories when I turned back into the boy. The reason I owe you is because of what happened next…"

* * *

_He'd been on his way past the motel's front desk when Mrs. Lucas called him over and informed him that he had a message waiting. She'd seemed somewhat apprehensive, and when August accepted the folded paper—heavier stock than the motel stationary would have been—and opened it, he thought he understood her trepidation._

There is something we need to discuss. Come by the shop at half-past ten tomorrow.

_The paper bore Mr. Gold's signature. August had forced a smile, but when he got up to his room and set the paper down on the night table, there were inky smears on his fingertips and smudges on the note where his sweaty hands had touched it. He didn't know why the Dark One wanted to see him now, not after last night, but he had a feeling that if he ignored the summons, the Dark One would only come searching for him and August didn't know Storybrooke well enough to hide from him for long. Besides, hiding would only make matters worse. He could leave town, he supposed, but running away from his responsibilities and his problems was the reason that he already had one wooden leg. Leaving might just hasten his transformation. No, he had to comply with the instruction. And he'd better be on time, too; he doubted that the Dark One had much tolerance for tardiness._

* * *

August pushed his plate away and rested his elbows on the table where it had been. "Remember now?" he asked in a voice that was only slightly above a whisper.

Gold frowned for a moment. Then both eyebrows shot up. "Ah."

"Yeah," August said more softly. "I'd been avoiding my father. Partly because I didn't think I could face him when I wanted to do more than anything was to… to throw my arms around him and tell him how much I'd missed him, only I knew that he wouldn't have a clue as to who I was—"

"I've been there," Emma interrupted. "You're right. It stinks."

August nodded. "Yeah," he said again. "The other reason was because every time I thought about looking in on him—and believe me, I'd been thinking about it since I made up my mind to head to Storybrooke—I kept hearing his voice repeating those words on the flyleaf of that book. It was all tied up with how badly I'd failed him. Failed me. And I wouldn't even be able to ask his forgiveness when he wouldn't understand why. So. Storybrooke might be a small town—too small for me to hide from anyone actively looking for me, but big enough for me to avoid him." He looked directly at Gold. "Until you brought us together."

Gold shook his head slightly. "It wasn't like that," he replied haltingly. "You say you owe me. I owed Gepetto. The potion that transformed his parents was never meant for them. But all magic comes with a price and it was their ill fate to pay it for another. Because of that, a young boy grew up with neither father nor mother. It-it wasn't right that he should lose his son, too. I knew he wouldn't remember you when I contrived for the two of you to meet. Not then. But with the savior in town, it was only a matter of time before the curse would break. And however miniscule the progress I'd observed on that score, and however impatient I was for matters to come to a head, I knew that when they did, the effect would be immediate. And were the curse to break before your transformation to puppet was complete… Well. Once Gepetto regained his memories, the first thing he'd want to do would be to seek you out. And you would be there. And, it occurred to me, that when the savior broke the curse I'd created, the process she'd start might break yours at the same time. Of course, I didn't fully understand the circumstances responsible for your condition," he admitted with a slight smile. "Fairies tend not to share their spells with one such as me." He took another breath. "When I engineered that meeting, it wasn't for you. It was for your father."

"Less than a week after I'd posed as your son and tried to control you with the dagger."

"Hang on," Emma broke in, angry once more. "You left out that part about the dagger before."

August nodded. "I know."

"Of all the…!"

Belle said nothing, but the look she cast across the table at her estranged husband showed more tenderness than had been in evidence all evening.

August seemed to wilt under Emma's accusatory glower. Then he tore his eyes away from hers and looked once more at Gold. "What I did to you was bad enough. But for you to turn around and, despite everything I'd set you up for, for you to just… casually… reunite me with the man I most needed to connect with but didn't have the guts to reach out to on my own…" He closed his eyes. "I don't think I can ever really balance that scale, but that doesn't absolve me of the obligation to try."

He took another breath and opened his eyes. "And by the way, if you were as unredeemable as people tend to believe, I… don't think you would have done me a favor that huge without expecting some sort of payment in return. You said it's because you owed my father. That doesn't change the fact that you handed me a free gift. And… you did it when you didn't have anyone else to impress. Baelfire wasn't around. As far as you knew at the time, Belle was…" He let his voice trail off, but the others knew what he meant. At the time, he'd believed Belle to be dead.

"Even if the only thing you'd done was spare my life in the woods, I'd have owed you," August continued. "But you handed me a second chance when the only thing you stood to gain was the slim possibility that I could help bring the Dark Curse to its conclusion when," he jerked his head toward Emma, "the savior was fighting everything we both were trying to show her, every step of the way. I don't _think_ I was lying exactly, when I told you I could get Emma to believe. But… wishful thinking? Desperate hoping? Oh, yeah."

He took another breath. "You gave me a second chance," he repeated. "One a lot of people—a couple of them probably sitting at this table—would say I didn't deserve. At the very least, I owe you the same."

Gold regarded him searchingly for a moment. Then his gaze panned the table once more. "You'll allow me to return with you?" he asked, even as he realized that that couldn't be what August had meant. They'd all told him earlier that no decision had been made. And between then and now, so far as he could tell, there was nothing that he had done that could have altered that fact.

Sure enough, August was shaking his head apologetically. "That's not something I'm ready to commit to, as of yet," he admitted. "We've got the hotel rooms for a week, remember. Hopefully, by then, we'll have a better idea of where things stand. But," he laid a hand cautiously over Gold's, pretending he didn't feel the older man's tension, nor see his start of surprise, "if we don't, we'll stay longer. And if we do and it's not the answer you want, I'll stick around, even if the others go back." He took a breath. "As long as I'm alive, you're not going to die on the streets, lame, friendless, and alone. That's one promise I'm making, here, now, no strings attached. No matter what."

Gold covered August's hand with his own and managed a closed-lipped nod, even as he screwed his eyelids tightly shut against the moisture that threatened once more to break forth in public.

* * *

They didn't speak much on the walk back to the hotel. Each of the four was lost in their own thoughts.

Emma was reflecting on how much had happened to her over the last three years and how far she'd come from the rootless drifter she'd been when Henry had first found her. August had been part of her transformation. As had Gold. She had a lot to process tonight. Or tomorrow, she thought as she smothered a yawn. She was probably going to hit the hay as soon as she got back to her room.

August was feeling lighter than he had since Regina had restored him to adulthood and his previous memories had come crashing in, reminding him of his past actions. He could have left them in the past, told himself that he was different now and that he couldn't be held accountable for things he'd done before he'd… died. But he was trying, really trying, not to fall back into telling falsehoods. Especially since he might be able to get away with them these days—if only because his nose wouldn't grow. Lying to himself counted. He'd said what he'd felt he'd needed to and, oh yes, they'd been angry, as he'd expected them to be. But the world was still spinning, the stars still shone, and the four of them were still walking back together. He smiled as they stopped at the curb to wait for the light to change. This had been a hard night. But it was also a good one.

Rumple was thinking about how quickly his circumstances had changed for the better. He still needed to convince the others to let him return with them, and when he did… he truly hoped that his magic would be able to control his heart's condition. Because if it couldn't, then finding the Author was still his best chance and he would still need to darken Emma's heart... and after today, he could truthfully say that he didn't want to. If he'd had anyone he thought he could say it _to_ , that is.

Belle was replaying August's confession in her mind and realizing that, quick as she'd been to join Emma in condemning him, his attempt to use the dagger on Rumple wasn't all that different from what she'd done when she'd gotten Rumple to take her to the Snow Queen's lair. If anything, his circumstances had been worse, Belle reflected. She'd been trying to cover up a past misstep. He'd been dying.

 _His coming clean to us tonight couldn't have been easy. He must have known how we'd react. And yet, he did the right thing, even though he knew it would tarnish his image in our eyes. While I… I used the dagger to control my husband because I was afraid that if I told him, he'd realize the truth—that I was never_ _hero material. Just like the Snow Queen's mirror said._

She wondered why that would have been so terrible. Of all the people she knew, Rumple was probably the last one who would ever take her to task for not being as virtuous as she tried to be. _He would have accepted me for who I was, but I wanted to be better. I wanted to save Anna from the cliff. I wanted to save Rumple from his darkness. I failed them both._

The words Will had spoken to her the night before—had it only been the night before?—surfaced now. _Do I love Rumple now? Or am I just sorry for his circumstances? Did I love him before? Or did I just want to 'fix' him?_

She didn't know and she was confused. Seven weeks ago, she'd known that she was right and Good and completely justified in her actions, and Rumple was Dark and Evil and had to be banished for everyone's safety. Tonight, the defining lines she'd thought were so clearly drawn were blurred and muddled and everything was all mixed up and she couldn't even talk about it because…

…Because unlike August, she didn't have the courage to unburden herself of the load she'd been carrying and see the faces of her friends harden, hear their words of condemnation. She needed them to see her as good, even if she wasn't. And if they knew everything she'd done, everything that went through her head sometimes, then they wouldn't.

A new thought struck her. _Might this be why Rumple has never been fully open with_ me _?_

"Belle? Belle!"

She blinked at the fingers snapping before her eyes and wondered how long Emma had been trying to get her attention. "S-sorry! What…?"

"We've got the walk signal," Emma said, pointing to the traffic lights.

"Oh. Sorry," she said with a rueful smile.

"Hey," Emma said, sounding concerned. "You okay?"

She forced the corners of her mouth further apart and coaxed some cheer into her voice. "Of course. I… guess I just zoned out for a moment. I'm fine."

_Now, who was telling falsehoods?_


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference is made to S1E19: The Return, S2E21: Second Star to the Right and S3E15: Quiet Minds.

**Chapter Eleven**

He wasn't used to sharing a room with anyone. He'd been getting there with Belle, but the novelty of being married again after more than a century hadn't had the opportunity to wear off before the night of his banishment. He supposed that he still preferred his privacy, if not his solitude per se. Still, if he'd learned nothing else these past weeks, he had a clear understanding of just how vulnerable he was on his own, outside of Storybrooke. He wasn't completely opposed to the idea of August occupying the other bed.

"Uh," August cleared his throat as he pulled a pair of pajamas out of his duffle bag, "I didn't snore or anything earlier, did I?"

Rumple shook his head. "Are you prone to?"

"Never stayed awake to find out. But I never had any complaints, either. You don't, by the way."

"I'm delighted to hear it," Rumple retorted with a tartness that belied his relief. He retrieved his own pajamas and a robe and went into the bathroom to change.

* * *

August was sitting at the writing desk, whittling away at a small piece of wood when Rumple emerged once more. He'd spread out several pages of a free newspaper he'd picked up from a box on their walk back to the hotel to catch the detritus. "Let me know when you're ready to turn out the light," he said. "I'm just passing time."

Rumple nodded. "If you'd prefer to complete your… project…?"

"Nah," August smiled. "It'll keep. It's just something I do when I've got a few minutes."

Rumple nodded again. He half-wished he had his spinning wheel with him, though he could scarcely have expected Belle to bring it with her. Then again, he thought with a pang, a spinning wheel would also have reminded him about the last year, and he had reminders enough to creep up on him at odd times. "Shall we say a half-hour, then?" he suggested.

"Sure." August took a deep breath. "Uh… could I ask you something?"

Rumple gave a half-shrug.

"Earlier tonight, you said that you brought my father and me together because you owed him for what happened to his parents. Why couldn't you have just… changed them back?"

A faint smile flitted across Rumple's face and he sighed as he sank down to his bed. "Had I transformed them on a whim, I could have done that easily enough," he replied. "Unfortunately, a deal was involved."

"I don't understand."

"Well," Rumple explained, "a deal is an agreement. A contract. Not to be broken. In this case, I gave Jiminy a potion to free him from his situation. In return, he gave me the right to claim what the potion created. He fulfilled his end of the bargain, so I fulfilled mine."

"But the wrong people drank it," August said with a frown.

"Yes."

"So the contract should have been void."

"Not necessarily," Rumple replied, "though I'll grant that a case could certainly be made. Let me suggest a hypothetical situation. Someone approaches me, telling me that they are suffering from an infestation of rodents. I have in my possession an effective solution, but they have no means to purchase it. I suggest that they can pay me in… well, in the carcasses of the vermin." He saw the look on August's face and shrugged. "Their hides can be used to fashion garments that protect the wearer from all manner of infectious disease. But rodents being rather small, it does require a lot of hides. So. I give the supplicant the poison in advance of my payment, on the assurance of collecting my due after it's been used. But, as it turns out, before the poison can be administered to the rodents, it is inadvertently given to the supplicant's livestock. Well. Now, I don't have my mouse hides and the supplicant still has his infestation. But I still haven't been paid for the poison and now, it can no longer be returned. And the poison was used. Perhaps not for its intended purpose, but then, that's hardly my fault. I supplied the product and now, payment is due. And, if the hides of the rodents are not available, I'll cut my losses and hope I can find some use for the cattle skins instead."

"But the contract was for the rodents."

"Yes. I'm hardly denying that the poison was given on the understanding that it be used for that purpose. But since it was not, and since the poison no longer exists and can't be returned to me, my options are to take what is available in payment… or to have the debt outstanding to me increase as interest accrues."

August was shaking his head. "I get that magic can't raise the dead, so in your hypothetical scenario, you couldn't have undone what was done. But my grandparents aren't dead. They're transformed. So couldn't you have done another deal to change them back?"

Rumple smiled more broadly. "Of course I could have. Had either Jiminy or Gepetto approached me to request it, such an agreement could have been struck. But I'm not given to knocking on doors to offer deals when I have something the other party wants and the other party has nothing I require."

"Wait. You're saying that all someone had to do was ask?"

"Well, I would have asked for something else in return if they did, but essentially? Yes." He shook his head. "I rather expected Jiminy to return to my castle to make such a request, but neither he nor Gepetto ever did." Rumple sighed. "I daresay my reputation was a probable factor."

"I don't believe I'm hearing this." August shook his head. "So, for decades…?"

"Yes."

"Wow. Okay," August said. "Assuming you come back with us, it looks like my father—or Archie—might be paying a call on you in the not-so-distant future."

"Or," Rumple suggested, " _we_ could strike such a deal. You want your grandparents restored. I need to return to Storybrooke." He smiled faintly. "It would appear… that you have me at a disadvantage."

For a moment, August's eyes widened and a broad grin creased his face. Then it faded and he shook his head. "Let's agree that you have something I want. Probably if you put your mind to it, you'll be able to come up with something the others want, too. That's not the point. This isn't about holding you over a barrel and extorting whatever favors we can get out of you before we relent and let you come back with us."

"Then what _is_ it about?" Gold demanded, sounding more puzzled than angry.

August didn't answer for a long moment. Finally, he said, "Honestly? I'm not sure, but I'll know it when I see it."

"That's reassuring."

"I'm sorry." He set his whittling knife down. "I don't feel like doing this anymore," he said, gesturing toward the desk. "I think I'll just brush my teeth and turn in."

He was halfway to the bathroom when Gold called, "Booth?"

August stopped and turned to face him.

"What you said a moment ago. About not wanting to extort favors… It was appreciated. If somewhat surprising."

"I meant it."

"I know."

"Should I close the lights on my way back?"

"If you don't require them."

"Okay. I'll just be a minute."

As August closed the bathroom door behind him, Rumple sank back into the pillows with a confused look still on his face. If Booth wasn't looking for some quid pro quo sort of arrangement, then what precisely _was_ he after? And how was he supposed to divine the answer to that riddle when Booth himself didn't seem to know it?

When August emerged from the bathroom, Gold pretended to be asleep. But, despite his exhaustion, it took over an hour until true slumber finally claimed him.

* * *

"Okay," Emma sighed. "Are you ready to talk about it now?"

Belle blinked. "About what?"

Emma pulled her hair out of the long sports jersey she was wearing to sleep in and reached for her hairbrush. "About the way you've been acting all day. With Gold." She tilted her head slightly as she dragged the brush through her long tresses, wincing a bit as she hit a snarl.

Belle didn't answer for a moment. Then, "How have I been acting?" she asked defensively.

Emma paused in mid-stroke and set her brush back down on the dresser. "Like one minute you'd cheerfully tear a new one out of anyone who tries to take advantage of him and the next you back away like he's got the plague. What's going on?"

Belle started to respond, then reconsidered what she'd been about to say and stopped. "I…" she tried again. Then she took a deep breath. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life feeling like I need to apologize for his actions or-or threatening to leave him if he doesn't change his ways."

"Well, that's something, at least," Emma said softly.

"Sorry?"

Emma shook her head. "I'm probably the last person in the world who ought to be giving relationship advice, but I agree. What you're describing doesn't sound like anything you ought to be doing. She winced. "But it does sound like if that's what you think you signed on for, you're also setting yourself up for him to keep… keeping things from you. If he can't talk to you, if he senses you won't approve of what he's doing and coming clean about it means you're likely to walk out on him? Where's his incentive to share?"

"So, if next time, he tells me that he really _really_ needs to crush Killian's heart for a spell, I should just smile and be supportive?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Of course not. But it's not all black and white, either-or." At Belle's frown, Emma continued, "You're treating it like your only choices are to go along with whatever he wants or come down on him like a ton of bricks. There've got to be a few other options."

"Okay," Belle challenged. "How would _you_ handle it?"

Emma thought. "Well, if it were Killian telling me he was planning to join us here, with a fresh vial of dreamshade coating his hook…" Belle's jaw tightened and Emma forced back a smile. "Assuming I couldn't convince him to see reason—and trust me, I wouldn't be trying to convince him calmly—I'd probably let him know straight up that I'd stop him if he tried. Then I'd ask you to help me find the recipe for that antidote Gold made for my father and ask you or Regina to prepare it. Hopefully we'd make enough so that we could each have a vial in case one got spilled out or something."

"And after you'd stopped him, you'd still want to… be with him?"

Emma winced. "I don't know. I guess it would really depend."

"Depend?" Belle shrilled. "On what?"

Emma let out a long sigh. "On whether it was an unprovoked attack—just Killian deciding that now that everyone thought he was past wanting revenge, this would be the perfect time to act, or whether… let's say, Gold was blackmailing him with something Killian didn't think he could come to us to discuss and… and killing Gold was the only way out he could see. I still wouldn't get behind cold-blooded murder, but what August was saying about desperation before…" She shook her head. "I may not have done much that was really dark in my life, but that doesn't mean I always did the right thing. There was stuff I pulled when I was trying to get Henry away from Regina during the first curse that's hard for me to think about now without cringing a little inside. Sometimes, it's not about doing the right thing. It's about doing the less-wrong thing. And," she added quietly, "hoping that when it's finally over, someone's still going to want to talk to you long enough to hear your explanation."

Belle had been nodding slowly, but now she blinked in disbelief. "Rumple was about two seconds away from crushing your boyfriend's heart," she reminded Emma. "What defense could he possibly offer?"

"I don't know," Emma admitted. "But I'd like to hear it anyway. I don't see a way to excuse what he did, mind you, but mitigate maybe?"

"You-you want him to come back with us. Don't you?"

"Don't _you_?" Emma asked pointedly.

Belle flinched. "I do and I don't. I love him, but the town… isn't safe when he's there."

"And yet," Emma reminded her quietly, "if the town is in danger, he's usually the one we call on for a way to save it." She let out a long breath. "Life didn't used to be this complicated."

Belle nodded at that. "Tell me about it," she replied with a long-suffering sigh.

* * *

Sometime after midnight August awoke and couldn't fall back to sleep. More for something to do than from actual hunger, he dressed quickly and quietly and made his way downstairs. The hotel didn't have a restaurant, but the deli he'd mentioned earlier was open late. When he pushed open the heavy glass door, he was only mildly surprised to see Emma already seated at one of the tables, a mug of hot cocoa half-drained before her.

"You sure you want caffeine this late at night?" he greeted her.

Emma looked up wearily. "It's got less of it than coffee would. And it's a better choice than rum."

"Rough night?" August asked, sitting down opposite her.

A server approached and Emma waited for August to order a herbal tea and for the server to move off, before speaking. "Rough conversation with Belle," she replied.

"Ah. Yeah, Gold and I didn't have the easiest one either." He filled her in briefly on what the two had discussed after heading back to their room. When he finished, Emma looked slightly stunned.

"You didn't want to take him up on the offer?"

"Of course I did," August sighed.

"But…?"

The tea arrived and August was silent for several long moments as he stared at the ceramic teapot and waited for the bag to steep. It wasn't until Emma finished her cocoa that he finally poured the tea into the empty cup. Only then did he say, "Honestly? I thought it was a test."

Emma gave him a bewildered look. "A test," she repeated, as though he'd been speaking a different language altogether.

"Think about it," August said. He took a sip of tea and set his cup down again. "A few hours ago, I apologized—sincerely—for trying to control him with the dagger. And now, he offers me an opportunity to control him with a deal. You don't see a problem with that?"

"Not if it was his suggestion."

August gave her a fleeting smile. "Yeah? Well, take it from a former puppet. Strings are strings no matter who's attaching them. Whatever it is we need to see from him before we decide if he comes back with us, it's not whether he can bargain his way into getting that extra seat in your bug. That's not change and it's not growth. But… let's face another fact: those deals? May be just about the only way he can ever get anybody to do anything for him. Or show him any consideration."

"That's not—" Emma started to protest. Then she stopped. And she thought about it. When Belle had been shot and lost her memories, they'd been quick to call an ambulance and rush her to the hospital. Had anyone given a thought to what Gold had been going through back then? She remembered with a pang that instead, they'd been demanding he heal a complete stranger, when he couldn't cure the woman he loved. _Really? Looking back now, I think if I'd been in his place, I'd have told everyone exactly what they could go do with themselves, too—but I'd likely have resorted to the kind of language I'd never want use in front of Henry._

Would she have gone with him to Manhattan to track down his missing son if she hadn't owed him a favor? She wanted to think she would have but, on reflection, even if she'd been willing to, she would have likely asked him to hold off until Cora had been dealt with. If, in this hypothetical scenario, her mother had acted as she had in reality, then Emma would have wanted to stay in Storybrooke to protect her from Regina's vengeance. And even if things had gone differently, something else would have come up. Greg Mendell would have been in town learning everything he could about Storybrooke for Pan. Regina would go missing. With or without Tamara, Greg would probably still have gone after Henry. There could be a mountain of paperwork at the sheriff's station that would somehow take priority over Gold's needs. _Because just about everything generally seems to, unless or until someone finally remembers they need him. And then we all expect him to drop everything and make_ our _needs the priority. And then_ we _all troop off to Granny's for dinner. And we leave him behind, like…_

Like after the battle with Zelena. Damn it! They'd _known_ the witch had been forcing him to attack them. They'd known she held his dagger. And they'd just left him in that warehouse to find his own way back to town like the best he could expect from them was to be left to his own devices. _I've been in prison. I hated it. But the guards I had to deal with were strict, not sadistic. They didn't enslave me. They didn't turn me into a weapon and use me against the few friends I made in there. And when I got out, there was a support system in place. It wasn't anywhere close to enough… but it was light years ahead of anything we did for Gold._

She closed her eyes. "How can we fix this?" she asked faintly.

"I'm still working on that," August admitted. "But I think first, no bargains. If he comes back with us, it's because of how he's trying to change, not because we're demanding his help as a condition."

"The fairies in the hat…" Emma murmured.

August winced. "I know. Blue and I go way back and I hate thinking of her in there. But we'll figure out how to free them one way or another."

"So if I understand," Emma said, "you want to see Gold do the right thing with no guarantees. Like…" a faint smile flickered over her lips, "like a leap of faith. Not to hold up his end of a bargain, not to manipulate us into doing what he wants. Just… because."

"I… I guess so," August said slowly. "I mean, I don't know if that's the only way, but it would sort of be like the gold standard. No pun intended," he added quickly. "He does that, I don't think I'd have any further doubts." He frowned. "You know what that means, though, right?"

"That once he comes home—assuming he does—we're going to have to tiptoe around trying not to be waiting for him to revert, but worrying about it anyway."

August shook his head. "You're thinking too far ahead. I meant… Gold's been asking what he needs to do for a second chance. Until now, we hadn't really figured it out. And now that we have… we can't tell him."

Emma started to protest. Then she stopped as understanding dawned. "If he knows that's what we're looking for, he's going to fake it long enough to convince us. Just like he fooled Belle."

" _If_ he fooled Belle," August said. "No," he continued when Emma raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I mean it. I had a bunch of mess-ups before the one that almost turned me into a donkey. And each time I got another chance and promised to do the right thing, I meant it. Sincerely. It wasn't so I could avoid punishment or get some treat or prize or what-have-you. When I promised I'd be good, I meant it with all my heart. Until the next time something tempted me and I gave in. Maybe you're right and Gold was deceiving us all. But maybe he wasn't. I don't know and I guess it doesn't really matter. But… yeah. Real change is hard enough when it's something you're trying to do and you have people supporting you every step of the way. When you're just going through the motions so everyone else backs off… it's way less likely." He sighed. "I guess, if he asks, we just keep telling him we don't know what he needs to do, but we'll know it when we see it."

"But we do know."

"Not specifically," August pointed out. "We want to see him start making the right choices. Without context, neither of us knows what those choices might be."

"You're splitting hairs."

August nodded. "I know. And I don't feel great about doing it, even if he'd probably do the same thing. Maybe especially because he probably would. But I can't think of a better way to do it."

He sighed. "And if, when all's said and done, Gold doesn't demonstrate what we're hoping he will, then you two go back. I'll keep the promise I made to him tonight."

It was Emma's turn to sit silently while August slowly nursed his tea. It was only after he'd drained the dregs that she reached into her pocket and pulled out the wad of bills he'd passed her earlier. "If that happens," she said, "when Neal gave this to you for me, he thought I needed it—and maybe I did. I don't know. It would have helped, but since I didn't get it, I got by without it. The thing is, I know that he and Gold mended their fences before it was too late. And I'm pretty sure that if Neal were alive right now, well, that might've been enough to keep Gold from reverting in the first place, but even if it weren't… I think he'd rather Gold had this than me. And even if I'm wrong about that, _I'd_ rather. If Gold doesn't come back with us, he's going to need it more than I ever did."

August smiled. "Hang onto it for now. Let's hope it won't come to that."

Emma nodded and slipped the money back into her pocket. "Come on," she said, pushing her chair away from the table. "Let's see if we can get some sleep before the sun comes up."

* * *

_He was dangling over the portal, staring up at his own terrified face—or was it his papa's—seeing his own hand plunging the dagger into the earth to keep from falling into the unknown. He couldn't let go, couldn't give up his magic, couldn't go back to being weak, not even if he'd promised he would. But he wouldn't let go of Bae either. He'd hold onto his papa's hand as long as he could…_

_And then he couldn't. As he tumbled, screaming, head over heels, he didn't know if he'd slipped out of his father's grasp…_

_…_ _or if Papa had simply let go._

_His fall stopped abruptly and he looked up again and now it was Emma's face he saw, just as scared, just as determined. There was a burning pain in his gut and he was dizzy, still dangling, Emma clasping his hand in a white-knuckled grip, while she held fast to the broken floor with her other hand. He could feel the pull of the portal, feel it drag them both toward its glowing maw and he realized…_

_"_ _You can't hold both of us!"_

_And then he heard mocking laughter and when he turned his head in its direction, the portal was gone and he was kneeling in the snow, holding his dying son with one hand, his dagger in the other, unwilling to let go of either._

_"_ _Sorry, Rumple. You can't hang onto both of them."_

_He'd chosen the dagger over Bae once and spent two centuries regretting it. He'd never make that mistake again. No matter the cost. With a cry that was half a snarl, he relinquished the blade and felt the pull of a magical tether tighten about him as Zelena grasped it. No matter. Bae was safe. With him. They were safe. That was all that mattered-mattered-all that mattered-what was the matter-madder-two minds in one head would make anyone madder._

_"_ _Enough of this," Zelena snapped. Your madness is your burden, not mine. It's time to go. But before we do…" She pointed to Belle. "Kill her."_

_BELLE!_

* * *

The wall that separated the two hotel rooms wasn't very thick and Belle wasn't a sound sleeper. She'd spent too long a prisoner to rest easy. It was difficult to sleep well when one never knew whether they might be aroused before dawn to clean up the latest spill in a magical laboratory (and sometimes more than a spill. The Dark One had little tolerance for failure—not even his own, though he seemed to give her a great deal more slack than she'd expected. She'd once seen him overturn an entire cauldron's worth of some foul-smelling, sickly orange brew onto the laboratory floor with a cry of frustration before he'd stormed out of the room yelling back at her to clean up the mess and mind she put on a leather smock and gloves before she did. She'd found out the reason for his demand when she'd unthinkingly fetched an ordinary mop to clean up the spill, rather than one of the ones set aside for magical cleaning. The corrosive liquid had dissolved a good part of the strings before she'd realized her error.)

It was difficult to sleep well in a tower dungeon when one didn't know whether the guards at the door were coming to bring her food, empty her chamber pot, or lead her away to execution. It was difficult to sleep well in a solitary room in the basement of Storybrooke's hospital when haunted by memories of cold gloating eyes that watched her through the narrow slot in the door that had marked the boundary of her world for as long as she could recall. And it was difficult to sleep well in a house where one could never be certain what Dark magic the man you loved might be cooking up when he thought she wouldn't know.

So, perhaps, it wasn't too surprising that a cry from the next room jolted her awake tonight. At first, Belle wasn't sure where she was. She fumbled for her reading lamp switch and was surprised when her hand passed through empty air. Then the events of the day came flooding back and with them, the realization that she wasn't in her bed in the apartment behind the Storybrooke library, and that there was a lamp close by, but that it was on the night table by her bed and not fastened to her headboard, as it was at home. She reached out, found the base of the lamp, and ran her finger along the cord until she found the small rolling thumb wheel and switched on the light. The other bed was empty and there was no light coming from under the bathroom door. Belle wondered where Emma had gone.

"Bae!" The cry from the next room nearly made her jump. "Don't let go, son! Hold on!"

Belle bit her lip. Rumple was still having nightmares. Their first night together after he'd been freed from Zelena's control, he'd been mortified when his cries had awakened her and she'd awakened him in turn. He'd fashioned a charm the very next day—one he'd told her would help him keep such visions from overwhelming him. He'd kept it under his pillow, where he could get it if he needed it, though he'd told her at the time that he seldom needed to sleep.

_"_ _And I don't plan on doing so if I can avoid it," he'd added. "Not if this is the result."_

_"_ _But you can't go without sleep indefinitely," she'd protested._

_Rumple had given her a wan smile. "Not indefinitely, no. But being the Dark One does confer certain benefits. The ability to go for weeks without requiring slumber is one of them. Though," he'd sighed, "I'll grant that after my recent experiences, more rest may be warranted." He'd held up the charm. "This will ensure I get it. And you, as well," he'd added with an apologetic smile._

Belle winced. She hadn't brought the charm with her. When she'd gone back to the house to pack his things, she'd gone directly to the closet and dresser, barely sparing a glance toward the bed. She'd made it up neatly on the morning of their last day together and it hadn't occurred to her to disturb the pillows.

"Belle, _run! RUN!_ "

Belle hugged herself and drew a shuddering breath. Then her chin snapped up and she felt her shoulders straighten. She got up, shoved her feet into her slippers and grabbed her robe from the chair where she'd draped it before going to bed. She walked over to the night table beside Emma's bed and picked up the spare key-card for the room next door. August had procured three for each room. One for each occupant and one to keep in the other room, 'just in case'. Belle was glad of that now.

She pulled open her door and looked cautiously up and down the hall, realizing that leaving her room in robe and nightgown might not be advisable in a strange place, even if she was only going one room over. Finding the hallway deserted, she stepped out, made her way to the next door, and swiped the card with alacrity.

She wasn't surprised to find that Rumple was alone in the room. His cries would have roused August by now had he not been. Rumple's eyes were closed and his breath came in nervous gasps as he flailed about in bed.

"Hold on! Don't let go! Don't let gooooo!"

Belle bit her lip. Then she pulled the desk chair close to the bed, caught hold of one of Rumple's hands, and sat down. "It's okay," she whispered. "I'm right here. I'm holding on."

A tremor passed through him. "Belle?" he whispered, still keeping his eyes closed.

She drew a shuddering breath. "I'm right here, Rumple. I'm not letting go. I'm holding on."

He nodded as a faint smile came to his lips and he squeezed her hand in acknowledgment.

Belle didn't know how long she sat there, his hand in hers. At some point, she realized that his breathing had quieted, but she remained where she was, not sure whether easing her hand out of his grasp now would awaken him. Sometime during the night, she dozed off in the chair, waking only when August finally pushed open the door and light from the hallway stabbed at her eyelids. "He… was having a bad time of it," Belle whispered wearily, rising to her feet.

August nodded. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. Good thing you were."

Belle nodded back and gently extricated her hand. Rumple stirred but did not awaken. "I guess I'll go back to sleep," she said. "Was Emma with you?"

"Yeah. Sorry. It wasn't planned. We just… both couldn't sleep and ended up at the deli." He smothered a yawn. "Good night, Belle."

Belle hesitated. "August? I..." She started to tell him that she'd only come in because she'd been afraid that they'd be thrown out of the hotel if the other guests complained about the noise. That she didn't want him to get the wrong idea. Then she looked back to Rumple, sleeping peacefully now, felt a rush of warmth pass over her, and wondered whether it wasn't the right idea after all. August yawned again and she decided that she didn't need to mention anything at this hour when he clearly wanted rest. "G-good night."

* * *

Belle heard the sink going in the bathroom when she pushed open the door to her room once more. It was probably a good thing. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts for now. Was it possible to forgive Rumple for what he'd done? Did she want to? And… was it the right thing to do? Had she gone to the other room out of love, pity, or common decency? Or had it been a combination of all three? _Why couldn't things be simple?_ she thought plaintively.

The sound of running water ceased and Belle hastily shed her robe and dove into bed. Emma emerged a moment later.

"I thought I heard you come in," she said. "I'm sorry. I should have left you a no—"

Belle groaned with feigned sleepiness. "It's okay," she murmured. "Could we… talk in the morning?"

"Sure. Night."

"Night."

 _A very complicated night_ , Belle reflected, as she rolled over and tried to fall asleep once more.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

For the first time in weeks, Rumple hadn't woken up in a creased and filthy suit. He wasn't stiff and sore from sleeping on hard ground that had seemed somewhat more comfortable when he'd stretched out on it the night before. He didn't feel grungy or grimy. There were two pillows beneath his head and he was lying on clean sheets on a firm mattress beneath several warm blankets.

He didn't want to open his eyes, for fear that the events of yesterday had been a dream from which he hadn't yet awakened. It must have been a dream. It was highly unlikely that anybody would have left Storybrooke for him under the best of circumstances. And certainly not with the curse on the town line still in effect. He'd known that the moment he'd hung up the payphone after calling Belle. He still couldn't quite believe he had…

* * *

_That day, the morning after the robbery, he'd been at his lowest point yet. He'd discarded his socks before leaving the park; they'd been filthy and damp from the morning dew, but walking barefoot on cold concrete had been a new torture. His ankle had been throbbing. Even had it not been wrenched by his assailant, the rapidly cooling temperatures weren't good for it. After several blocks, the joint had buckled and he'd known he needed to stop and rest. Casting about for a place where he could sit down, he'd spied a statue rising from a low concrete base and thought that the base would do nicely for his purposes. He'd slumped there, rubbing his ankle, waiting for the ache to pass, and hoping the sun would warm the pavement as it climbed higher in the sky so he'd walk a bit more easily when he moved off again, when he'd heard a clinking noise and realized that someone had poured a handful of coins next to him. He'd looked up furiously meaning to give the donor a piece of his mind, but there were many people about at this hour and it was impossible to know which member of the parade of humanity passing by had been responsible. He was no beggar on the street! No matter how low he'd fallen, he had yet to resort to panhandling._

And just what did he call lining up for free soup? In what way was it nobler to accept a handout of food than one of money?

 _A chill rippled through him. He_ was _a beggar, he realized in horror and his hands shook as he gathered the coins. Only yesterday, he'd had means. Perhaps far less than he'd enjoyed in Storybrooke, but at least he'd had items of value that could be pawned or sold as a last resort. He'd had shoes and a coat. As long as he'd had those, he could let himself believe that his circumstances were better than they were. But today, he was ragged, barefoot, penniless… No wonder someone had presumed to make him a beneficiary of their largesse._

_And suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore. He had to reach out to the one person who might still care, even if she would probably hang up on him before he got two words out. He counted the coins and found that they amounted to more than five dollars. It might be enough._

_He'd passed a payphone not too far back, he remembered, and he retraced his steps, hobbling in its direction while trying to block out the still-icy concrete beneath the soles of his feet. His hands had been shaking so much he'd misdialed the first two times and hung up before completing the number. When he'd finally dialed it correctly and the operator had instructed him to insert additional coins for the connection, he'd nearly dropped them on the pavement, but he got them in the slot in the end. And then, instead of Belle's voice, he was greeted by a computer advising him that the person at that number was unavailable. She never had bothered to personalize her voice mail, leaving it at, 'The person at phone number 207-555-2665 is not available. At the tone, please record your message'. He'd nearly hung up on the spot, but then, he realized that he'd already paid for three minutes for this call. Those coins were beyond recovering now and who knew when he'd have funds enough to call again? Or_ if, _he realized with a pang. He was trying not to dwell on what was quickly appearing his inevitable fate, but fear intruded at inconvenient moments. Like now. He'd leave a message. Just a short one to let her know his circumstances. He took a breath._ "Belle…" _And suddenly, the words came rushing out of him, as uncontrolled as Emma Swan's magic had been with the Snow Queen's manipulations._ "Pl-please don't erase this until you've heard it. I'm sorry…"

_He'd left the message, but he'd known nearly at once that nothing would come of it. She'd almost certainly erase the message the instant she'd heard his voice and he couldn't blame her for it. He'd burned every bridge he'd ever crossed and Belle was no exception. She wasn't coming for him. Nobody was. He needed to accept that and move on, as best he could, for the time he had left._

_He dimly recalled that the shelter where he'd taken supper the night before had displayed a poster that indicated that second-hand clothing and footwear was available. The thought of wearing items that others had owned and discarded was loathsome to him, but then, he imagined that beggars couldn't be choosers. And, as had just been established, he_ was _a beggar…_

_He'd gritted his teeth and started walking again._

* * *

Rumple couldn't open his eyes. If he did, he knew he'd find himself back on the library steps awaiting someone who'd never come. He was sure that dragging himself up that stair hadn't been a dream, but after that…? After that he'd dozed off and was probably dozing still. That was the most reasonable explanation for the events that he remembered as happening yesterday. A pleasant daydream to be sure, but it was time to come back to reality. He groaned and pushed back the blankets…

The blankets. There _were_ blankets covering him. That hadn't been a normal happenstance for him since he'd been released from hospital. It occurred to him that he could be back there now. If he'd passed out on the street, it would explain a great deal, including the blankets. But while he could smell a trace of furniture polish in the air if he focused, the room was absent the strong disinfectant odor that had been prevalent during his earlier hospital stay. Then, there had also been the faint beeping of various machines. He'd had an IV shunt in his hand. And he certainly hadn't been wearing cotton satin pajamas—

His breath caught as he hesitantly brought the fingers of his right hand to his left sleeve. He'd been right. There was no mistaking the fabric. And it was not something he was likely to encounter in a hospital or a shelter. Even so, he wondered whether he was making a mistake as he cracked open his eyes.

And then he sat bolt upright. This was no dream. He was in a hotel. He was clean and warm and there was a change of clothes draped neatly over the chair. He glanced at the other bed and saw the glint of reddish-brown hair sandwiched between two pillows. Booth.

They _had_ come for him. It had all happened. It was all real. A smile of intermingled joy and relief burst onto his face as he sank back against the headboard and took it all in. Then he reached for his cane and made his way toward the bathroom.

* * *

Booth was still sleeping when Rumple emerged, so he took his clothing from the chair and went back to change. It wasn't modesty, not precisely. His clothing was a sort of armor. Back in the land of his birth, after he'd become the Dark One, this had literally been so; he'd favored suits of tough hide that gave him a vaguely reptilian appearance. They'd served a practical purpose, though. To acquire his power, he'd had no difficulty stabbing Zoso through a lightweight wool cloak and silken doublet. Zoso's life had been a burden, though. Rumple's—even in the dire circumstances in which he'd spent the last few weeks—was not.

Zoso had been born to rank and privilege, the younger son of a nobleman of rank who'd wanted more from life than to serve as seneschal to his elder sister when she inherited the fiefdom. He'd thought himself ill-used, but he'd never truly known hardship nor servitude. When the old duke of the Frontlands had gotten hold of the dagger, that had all changed. Slavery was a harsh condition—something Rumple now knew firsthand and full well. But even before he'd become the Dark One, his lot had scarcely been much better. True, he hadn't been a slave then, but the labor of his hands could be commandeered in lieu of taxes. His son could be drafted to a quick brutal death on the battlefield. He'd been subject to abuse and humiliation as a matter of course. And as miserable as his existence had been in those days, as cringing and pathetic as he'd thought himself, he'd forged a resilience and a will to live no matter what his circumstances. Zoso had yearned for death. Rumple strove for survival. He'd dreamed of power, though he'd never expected to possess it. And when he did possess it, he fought to hold onto it, no matter the cost. Just as he fought to preserve his life.

And if anyone were bold enough and lucky enough to steal his dagger from him as he'd once stolen it in turn, then if they sought to become the Dark One in his place, they'd need to ram the point through tough, scaly hide to accomplish that end.

Perhaps, in this realm, he didn't wear such garments. But his designer suits were another sort of armor, commanding instant respect, intimidating those who would taunt and abuse him, or worse. Well. They'd worked adequately in Storybrooke. And if they'd also served to insulate him from friends and companions, he'd rarely had a one who hadn't eventually stabbed him in the back. He was better off aloof and alone. Or so he'd told himself. After Malcolm. After Fiona. After Milah. After Cora.

Perhaps that was why he'd kept wearing his old suit here, even as it grew more ragged and bedraggled. Somehow, it had still given him an illusion of protection, a reminder of who he'd been and what he'd had not so long ago. Exchanging it for the castoff clothing provided by the shelters and other charities would have been as good as admitting that that life was gone forever and something in him had still clung to the past, and to the hope that what had been lost might yet be restored.

But if Rumple had fresh clothing now, donning day attire meant divesting himself of the pajamas he currently wore. It meant that for a brief time, like a hermit crab seeking a new shell, he would be exposed. Vulnerable. The illusion of security stripped away for all to see. It did no good to remind himself that less than twenty-four hours ago, he'd been sobbing in Booth's arms, displaying his vulnerability to anyone who chanced to be passing by. He hadn't been able to control that lapse. Today was a new day. And he was going to begin it by changing his clothes in the privacy afforded by the bathroom.

He closed the door behind him.

* * *

August hadn't stirred by the time Rumple was done, so he stole quietly out of the room and took the elevator down to the lobby. He wanted to be alone to think undisturbed. The desk clerk was the same man who'd been behind the counter yesterday, but unlike yesterday, he gave Rumple a vague smile and ignored him.

That suited Rumple fine. He picked up one of the tourism magazines from the wall rack next to the desk, took a seat on one of the couches, and pretended to leaf through it as he reflected on yesterday's conversations.

He couldn't say as he blamed the others for wanting some assurances that he wouldn't resort to his past behaviors if they allowed him to return with them. Clearly, his word wouldn't be enough. No, he'd need to demonstrate here and now that he'd changed. And the best way to achieve that, he knew, was to play the role of benefactor. He might not have wealth or power here, but he did have knowledge. And if he were to leverage that knowledge in order to be allowed back in Storybrooke, then wealth and power would return to him as well.

Rumple frowned, recalling what Booth had told him last night.

_This isn't about holding you over a barrel and extorting whatever favors we can get out of you before we relent and let you come back with us._

He had to admit that the younger man had surprised him with that statement. Not that Rumple believed a word of it. Oh, it sounded noble enough. And Booth might actually believe it. But in Rumple's experience, it wasn't just all magic that had a price… but all people, as well. He simply had to determine what price Booth and the others would deem fair.

Restoring Gepetto's parents to their human forms had been a substantial opening offer, but it was just an opening offer. And Rumple didn't blame Booth for rejecting it. The young man had never known his grandparents. (For that matter, neither had Rumple, though he'd wager that they were insipidly _good_.) Booth might want to restore them out of conviction that they ought to be freed from a spell they'd never been meant to fall under. He might want to give his father the thing he'd missed most. But when all was said and done, the two puppets were nothing to him and thus, it was easy enough to rationalize rejecting Rumple's price as too high.

Rumple had other things with which to bargain, though. He doubted that the heroes had found the key to freeing Blue and the other insects from the hat. And Booth had a connection with Blue, didn't he? Certainly more of one than he had with the strangers he'd never met, regardless of what they meant to Gepetto. Perhaps, offering to release the bugs would suffice. A show of good faith, rendering aid to a group of creatures he'd always despised and who despised him in turn… it might be enough.

Or, perhaps, he ought to let the three know that Zelena lived and that she was posing as Robin's actually-departed wife. He'd made a bargain with her in exchange for the elixir that had saved his life and bought himself some time. But all he'd consented to was to get the Author to give her a happy ending. That didn't mean that things couldn't get downright unpleasant for her right around the middle. And at the end of the day, paying a ransom was hardly in the same category as making a deal. There was no reason why he should feel bound by any promise he'd made to her in the hospital.

Actually, though, he thought he knew a better place to start. It wasn't with volunteering favors until the others felt that they had to reciprocate in good conscience. That would come in due course, but it wasn't what he should lead with. When he'd told Booth that he was unaccustomed to receiving apologies, it had been an unvarnished truth. And because he was so seldom on the receiving end of such expressions of remorse, perhaps he could be forgiven for not recognizing their power. Well. To be fair, he _had_ received many apologies of a certain type in the past. Those who'd thought to harm or deceive him and subsequently learned the price of such actions frequently did beg his pardon afterwards. They cringed, they whined, they sniveled. And yes, they did apologize. But that sort of apology, meant to appease and avert the fate they so richly deserved was as different from what Booth had given him as was an ogre from a fairy.

Booth hadn't been seeking to avoid punishment. He hadn't been fawning to receive a favor. He'd recognized the seriousness of his actions without Rumple's prompting him and his remorse had been heartfelt and genuine.

The bright photographs in the tourism magazine seemed to blur before Rumple's eyes. He did have a lot to apologize for to each of them in turn. And some sincerity now might go a long way toward putting them in a frame of mind where they'd be more willing to consider letting him return. And once they were thinking along those lines, the time would be right to disclose the truth about Zelena and the way to free Blue and the other insects. If he did that…

…Then Emma would barely notice when he set her feet on the path to darkness, until it was too late.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

"He's in the lobby," Emma reported as she re-entered her room, where August and Belle waited. "I don't think he saw me."

"Just so we know where he is," August nodded. "I was bringing Belle up to speed so we're all on the same page."

"I don't like it," Belle said flatly. "I've been after him to be open with us and now it… it feels like we're trying to manipulate him the way he has us in the past."

"If you have any better suggestions…?" August let his voice trail off meaningfully.

Belle frowned and turned to Emma. "Surely, with your superpower…?"

Emma shook her head. "If he lies outright, yeah. But have you ever looked at the horoscopes in the newspaper? The stuff they say is so vague it can mean anything. Because it's all bogus, but people who take that junk seriously can still find what to believe. A lot of the stuff Gold says is sort of like that, most of the time. As long as what he's telling us is technically true, my talent won't kick in. Even if he words what he says in a way that sounds like he's saying something else. And if he leaves out details, I wouldn't be able to tell that."

"But surely you could ask him if he is?"

"And if he says, 'I've told you everything you need to know?'" August broke in. "That's not a lie. If he wants us to do something that we wouldn't do if we had all the information, he's still told us all we need to know… to do what he wants."

"And plus," Emma added, "there's something else to consider. I… know a thing or two about being distrusted. Get a job when you're fresh out of juvie and let someone find out about your past and… well, let's just say that if your cash drawer—or _anybody's_ cash drawer comes up short at the end of a shift, everyone assumes that there's a thief on the floor and that you're it. If you're still on probation when it happens, there's a good chance you'll be fired. If probation's up, people can still make life unpleasant enough so you quit. And… after a while, you start figuring that if nobody trusts you anyway, there's not much point in trying to tough things out and hope it'll pass. So, you quit at the first sign of trouble. And maybe when you storm off, there are a few extra twenties in your wallet, because hey… if they already assume you're a thief anyway, you might as well get something to show for it." She caught the look on Belle's face and broke eye contact to stare at the floor. "I'm not trying to pretend what I did was okay. But I remember how those accusations made me feel and I just don't want to throw any of my own around unless I've got solid proof. Because as much as I felt I'd never be able to get people to trust me again after what I'd done? Multiply it by a million or so and maybe it'll come close to how he likely feels."

"You really think we can trust him after what he's done," Belle stated.

"No," Emma admitted. "Not entirely. But I think we need to trust him enough to recognize if—or when—he's trying to change. Otherwise, what are we even doing here?"

Belle shook her head. "So," she said, conceding for now, "what's the plan for today?"

"Breakfast first," August said. "I thought we'd try a different place about a block over. And then… I don't know. We can do some touristy stuff or catch a movie or something. There's a place in Greenwich Village that shows classic films for cheap. I checked it out this morning and they've got one of my favorites on the bill right now."

"And… Rumple?"

August shrugged. "If he wants to open up, that takes priority, I guess. But I don't think it's a bad idea to wait until he feels ready. For right now? You said you always wanted to travel. We're in New York. Let's just pretend it's a vacation like we told the desk clerk yesterday and do some sightseeing, okay?"

Belle looked from August to Emma. Finally, she nodded reluctantly.

* * *

"There you are," August said, smiling as he approached Rumple. "We're just about to head out to breakfast, if you're ready."

Gold nodded. "Have you lot decided what it is you want of me yet?" he asked, a faint answering smile softening the sharpness of his request.

August hesitated. "Nothing specific right now. But…"

Gold said nothing, but he tilted his head inquiringly.

"Look," August murmured, "I… know being open isn't really your thing and after the last few weeks, nobody wants to… to interrogate you. And, since I was a kid until a couple of days ago, I don't really know all the details beyond what Belle and Emma have mentioned in passing. But when you're ready, maybe it would help if… if we could understand a bit better why you did the stuff that made Belle feel she had to make you leave."

Gold shook his head. "I rather doubt that," he said wryly. "Though I suppose if you're looking for a reason to keep me away, my explanations are certain to satisfy on that score."

"We're not," August replied and Gold tensed as the younger man clasped his shoulder. "Doubt me all you like, but… we didn't drive all the way here just to tell you we don't want you back." His smile dropped. "All the same, I know coming clean about everything probably doesn't rank high on your list of enjoyable pastimes." Gold snorted and August grinned as he went on. "Last night wasn't exactly a walk in the park for me and the stuff I brought up happened a while back. And given how long it took for you to figure out what I was getting at, it's fair to say that what I did wasn't as fresh in your mind as what…" He caught himself and looked away. "I just… think that, not unlike this realm's versions of all our stories, there's more to yours than what we all think we know. You're the only one who can fill in the blanks."

"And that will permit me to return with you?"

August shook his head, sober now. "What I said before about how we're not trying to strike a deal or soak you for everything you're worth? You can add 'not forcing you to spill your guts if you don't want to' to the list. Sharing your reasons with us isn't a pre-condition for getting you back home. But it might be a start." His smile was back, but his tone was apologetic. "Just think about it. When you're ready." He looked past Gold at the window behind him and frowned. "It looks chilly out there. You want to come back up with me and grab your coat or should I get it for you?"

For answer, Gold reached for his cane and rose laboriously to his feet. His expression was pensive as he followed August toward the elevator.

* * *

There wasn't much conversation at breakfast. Emma admitted to not being much of a morning person. Gold focused on his coffee and eggs. He found himself paying attention to the prices more than he normally would have, feeling discomfort at needing to rely on his companions' generosity to such an extent. He'd called in favors before when he required assistance, but now, when he needed more help than he ever had and had no means of reciprocating or repaying the ones supplying it, he was torn between resentment at being needy and terror that the aid might cease at any time. Right now, he needed them far more than they needed him and that made his security far too tenuous for comfort.

His face displayed none of his concern, though. Whenever anyone made eye contact with him, he smiled self-consciously and ducked his head.

"So," August was saying, "I was thinking maybe we could take it easy today. Maybe take the ferry over to Staten Island and check out the Snug Harbor Cultural Center."

Emma smiled. "Henry and I never got out of Manhattan much during our year here, but that's one place that was kind of on our list of places to visit when we had time."

Belle already had her smartphone out. "It says here," she said, reading aloud, "that it was once a home for retired sailors. Oh, lovely," she said quickly. "A botanical garden, a Chinese scholar's garden…" she passed her phone across the table. "Rumple, some of these houses wouldn't have been out of place in Avonlea."

Rumple looked up in surprise at the warmth in her voice. August was going on about Tudor architecture and cobblestone paths, but he wasn't paying attention. For a moment, he was lost in Belle's blue eyes and the electric contact as his hand brushed hers.

"So…?" Emma prompted, bringing him back to his surroundings.

Rumple blinked. "Pardon?"

"Snug Harbor," Emma repeated. "Would you like to spend the day there?"

His eyes met Belle's once more. Clearly she did. That was all that mattered to him at the moment. "Yes," he said, with a slow smile. "That sounds… delightful."

* * *

It was easily the best day Rumple had had in weeks. The weather was turning chilly and the exterior gardens weren't much to look at, but the greenhouse was warm and fragrant. Normally, he wouldn't have cared for that, but watching Belle drinking in the sights brought a smile to his face and when something caught her eye, she turned to him to marvel at it, almost as though his banishment had never happened.

She seemed to catch herself the first few times, but as the morning wore on, the tension that had been so evident in her posture and expression yesterday slowly waned and Rumple found himself daring to hope that one burned bridge might possibly be rebuilt.

"Uh," August cleared his throat and motioned Rumple to one side as Belle and Emma moved further along the greenhouse path, "could I have a word?"

Rumple frowned, but he moved off in the direction indicated and waited for the criticism that almost inevitably followed such phrasing, at least when directed toward him. Booth seemed uncomfortable, which he judged, meant that the younger man had finally decided what assurances he wanted in order to allow Rumple to return, and he was embarrassed to have to admit that he wanted to cut a deal after all. Well. Let him. At this point, Rumple would be amenable to nearly anything.

"Look," August said slowly, "I'm not good with this and you haven't been complaining, but…" He hesitated. "Look," he repeated, "we've been doing a lot of walking and I… I didn't want you to think you had to tough it out if… Usually, you don't make a big thing about needing a cane," he said, not meeting Rumple's eyes. "So, I guess we don't either. But if you need to rest or you want to call it a day…" When Rumple didn't answer, August let the silence drag for what seemed like forever, but was probably less than a minute. "I won't bring it up again if you don't want me to," he said finally. "I just wanted to let you know it's okay to tell us to slow down if we're pushing too hard."

Rumple acknowledged the advice with a quick jerk of his head. While Booth's solicitousness was touching, he couldn't afford to think too kindly of him or of Emma. He knew what he needed to do if the Author was to have his ink and, given how long it had taken to steer Ms Swan into breaking the curse, he would have his work cut out for himself to turn her to darkness. He couldn't afford to wait to see whether it was necessary. If the magic he'd used in Storybrooke to manage his condition turned out to be insufficient on his return, the savior would have to have already traveled a good way down the path on which he needed her by then. He didn't have much time and every moment counted. Particularly when his guidance had to be rendered subtly, so she wouldn't know what he was about. And Booth… Booth knew too many things he shouldn't. Rumple had to assume that, unless he was extremely careful, the puppet would figure out what he was planning.

Still, it was good of Booth to think of him. And his ankle was starting to hurt. He took a breath. "I suppose I'd be obliged if we lingered over lunch," he admitted. "We _have_ done somewhat more walking than I've grown accustomed to."

"You got it."

Rumple stiffened when Booth clasped his shoulder warmly before motioning him back toward the others. It wasn't just that he was unused to such casual gestures of friendship—notwithstanding the number of times Booth had extended them in the last day or so. It was that the gesture appeared to have triggered another sensation that, while more familiar to him, was still rare enough to feel foreign.

A twinge of guilt.

* * *

There was a restaurant on the premises and the burgers were better than Granny's, though Belle hastened to add that they ought not to inform Mrs. Lucas of that fact. There weren't many people about, so Emma thought that it was safe enough to ask August something that had occurred to her last night, before she'd finally fallen asleep.

"When that old guy told you that you weren't going to be Star Publishing's next author," she began, "did you ever find out more? I mean, if they…" She hesitated, not sure whether 'published' was the correct word. "If they produced Henry's storybook, does that mean that you were almost the… the person Henry and Regina are trying to find now?"

August smiled. "I was wondering when you were going to ask me that," he admitted. "I'm pretty sure I was." His expression turned serious. "I was telling Regina before that something happened with the most recent author. I don't have the details, but from what I do know, instead of sitting back and watching the story unfold, he started… changing things."

Emma looked at the other two people. "You… know about Killian and me falling through Zelena's time portal. I don't know if you remember meeting us there, but I…?" She let her voice trail off, as Belle and Gold both shook their heads.

"I know you mentioned it when you came to enquire of me about Elsa, but we never discussed anything of substance beyond the queen of Arundel's confinement in my urn." He frowned. "When in time did you arrive? If Belle and I were already acquainted, I gather it must have been less than two years before Regina cast the Dark Curse." When Emma nodded confirmation, his frown deepened. "And I allowed the pirate to live?"

"It was touch-and-go for a second," Emma admitted. "The thing is, when we got there, I did something that almost unraveled… well, _me_." She quickly brought the others up to date on how she'd interrupted her parents' meeting and had the satisfaction of seeing Gold's face blanch. "I almost mucked everything up by accident. If I'd gone messing around, just for the hell of it—"

"Likely one of the reasons why time travel spells have been discouraged since the dawn of magic."

"I thought they were impossible," August said, frowning.

Gold nodded. "You appear to know a bit more about magic than many lay people," he said mildly. "So, then, I presume that you're aware that magic is predicated on belief? If you believe a thing is impossible, then—at least, for you—it is. And when more than a score of classic tomes written by wizards Dark and Light all proclaim that some barriers cannot be breached—time among them—the result is that even the most arrogant, jumped-up, contemporary magician harbors the tiniest shred of doubt that they can succeed where the greatest minds before them have failed. In science, one can ignore such misgivings and proceed to experiment. And perhaps, one's hunches may yet bear fruit. In magic, should any misgivings exist, it virtually guarantees that the spell will fail."

"So," Emma's eyes widened, "by writing that time travel was impossible, those other wizards…"

"…Virtually guaranteed that the timeline would not be imperiled," Gold nodded. "Of course, Zelena always was one to challenge preconceptions. And now that she's proven the thing can be done, others will follow."

"Well," Belle said, "apart from the fact that she's dead and nobody knows exactly what she did that made her spell work."

Gold took a deep breath. "Actually," he said slowly, "perhaps you ought to know that that's only half true…"


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

Emma took a deep breath. "Which half?" she asked, a bit more sharply than she probably meant to.

Gold hesitated. "Zelena is here," he admitted. "In New York."

"How?" Belle demanded.

Gold debated with himself for a moment. "All I can say," he replied, "is that she planned her escape well. And, while we all thought her dead, she crossed over the town line and made her way here."

"Out of all the places she could have gone," August said, "she picked New York. I mean, I know it's a big city, but why here? Boston's closer. Hell, Portland's closer. Uh… Portland, Maine, I mean," he added, remembering that there was another Portland on a different seaboard.

"Wait," Emma said, "I was in New York during that year when Storybrooke disappeared. She had Walsh here spying on me for eight months. If she was already thinking about having somewhere to run if she needed it, it would make sense to have him filling her in on life here in general, too."

Gold nodded, glad that he wouldn't need to explain about Zelena replacing Marian as Robin's wife after all. Once he did, the others were sure to inform Regina. And once that happened, either Regina would want them to rescue Robin from her clutches, or she'd come down here herself. Neither option was likely to work in his favor. If Regina arrived in New York, she was almost certain to bolster any argument against his return to Storybrooke. His silence on Robin's peril until this point would work against him in that case. And if they meant to simply collect Robin and drive back, Rumple knew that Emma's car could only seat four people comfortably. If someone had to stay behind, he had no illusions as to which individual that would be. True, Booth had promised to remain here as well, but that didn't alter two pertinent facts: if he didn't get back to Storybrooke, he _would_ be dead—in a matter of weeks at best. And once Emma left without him, there was no guarantee that she would come back for him before his time ran out.

"You, you've seen her?" Belle asked worriedly. "Talked to her?"

Rumple nodded. "In the hospital. She's using a glamor charm to disguise her appearance, but she revealed her true self to me while I was recovering."

He wasn't completely surprised when Belle covered his hand with her own, but he hadn't expected Emma to grip his other arm, just below his shoulder and squeeze. "I'm guessing that's when you figured out it wasn't a real heart attack," Emma said. "Because if it had been, seeing her there like that probably would've given you another one."

There was no flippancy in her tone of voice. Gold regarded her for a moment and was surprised to see concern writ large in her eyes. "Yeah," he said in a near whisper. He took another breath. "She must have been following me or watching Robin Hood, because she waited until I'd sent him off to obtain a potion I had reason to believe that your former…" He caught himself. "That _Walsh_ had brought with him from Oz."

"What kind of potion?" August asked.

"An elixir that can heal injured hearts."

"Wait," Belle said, her hand still pressed firmly atop Rumple's. "Why would he have had something like that with him?"

Rumple smiled. "In his past life, he had quite the collection of magical items. One that Zelena inherited when she deposed him as ruler of Oz's Emerald city."

"Hang on," Emma said, wide-eyed. "Are you seriously telling me I was dating the Wizard of _Oz_?"

"Well, I wouldn't consider him much of a wizard, dearie," Gold smirked, "but yes, I am." At Emma's groan, his smile widened for a moment. Then he turned serious once more. "At any rate, I suspected that Zelena wouldn't have sent her minion to a strange city without certain precautions. Magical charms… potions." Rumple's expression grew more solemn yet. "Remember, had your Mr. Walsh required any sort of medical care, he would have had some difficulty in paying for it. He would have required his own methods."

"Wait," Emma said. "How did _you_ handle your hospital bill?"

Gold hesitated. Until now, he'd wondered whether his phone call to Belle had been strictly necessary, or whether she'd known earlier that something was wrong. He had no idea whether anything mailed from outside Storybrooke could make it over the town line, but at the time of his attack, his clothes had been in far better condition and he'd doubted that the hospital would have believed him had he told them that he no longer had a fixed address. He took another breath. "I provided my address in Storybrooke for them to mail the invoice." He looked to Belle. "It's been over six weeks. Did it ever arrive?"

Belle shook her head slowly. "I picked up the mail before coming down. I didn't notice anything originating from outside the town."

She was telling the truth. He nodded, reassured. She _hadn't_ known his condition before he'd made that phone call. "Well. Perhaps it will arrive. Perhaps the curse on the town line will prevent it. Time will tell. At any rate, I dispatched Robin to Walsh's store to obtain the elixir. He did so but, at some point before he could deliver it, Zelena got hold of it and switched it for a placebo. She then took advantage of my condition to exact a pledge from me that, in light of our history, I'd never have granted otherwise."

"Which was…?" August asked, his voice tight with suppressed anger.

Gold felt his shoulders slump and was startled to realize that both Belle and Emma were holding onto him more tightly. He inhaled and let it out with a noisy sigh. "The same thing Regina's after. The…" he took another breath. "The thing I now need, should my magic not be enough to repair the damage to my heart if you allow me back to Storybrooke. She wants the Author to write her a happy ending." He lowered his eyes, realizing that he'd just revealed a bit more of his hand than he'd intended to, though he suspected that Booth might have guessed it. "The elixir bought me time, but it was only a stop-gap measure. The Author can change my fate." He looked at Emma. " _If_ your son's hunch is correct about his being somewhere in Storybrooke. If he isn't, then even if you determine that I'm fit to return with you, it shan't matter. If my power proves insufficient to manage my condition, then I shall truly be lost."

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then, Emma released his arm and patted his shoulder. "Hey," she said gently, "one step at a time. I was going to call Henry tonight anyway. After I do, I'll let you know if he's found anything yet."

Rumple nodded, noting unhappily that they still weren't saying he could go back with them. Nothing was decided, for or against him. And he still wasn't sure what they expected from him in order to rule in his favor.

"Rumple?" Belle's expression was puzzled. "If you made a deal with Zelena, to get the Author to help her… You have to know that now that _we_ know about it, we're going to stop her."

He nodded again. "I expect you will. In fact, I'd scarcely imagine otherwise."

"So, you're trying to get us to break your deal for you."

Rumple shook his head. "There's nothing to break, Belle."

Belle blinked. "But you just said…"

"I said," Rumple replied with a faint smile, "that Zelena took advantage of my condition to exact a pledge from me. That's not a deal." His expression hardened. "It's an attempt to extort a ransom. And _that_ is an entirely different matter."

Belle went pale. Her hand flew to her mouth and she pushed her chair hastily away from the table. "E-excuse me," she choked as she turned on her heel and began to run.

Gold blinked. "Belle?" he called after her in confusion. He looked to the other two, but the bewilderment in their expressions matched his own. Without another word, he reached for his cane, forgetting about the others as he went after her as quickly as he could.

Emma started to get up to follow, but August shook his head. "Give them a chance to work it out," he said. "I need to talk to you about something anyway and now's probably a good time…"

* * *

Seven weeks ago, she'd cursed herself for an idiot for believing that Rumple would ever give up the smallest bit of his power for her. He'd given her his dagger and she'd clung to that, even when the Snow Queen's mirror had spoken aloud her darkest suspicion—that it had all been a trick and he was playing her for a fool. And then she found the damned gauntlet in the shop and she _knew_ he'd been lying to her all along. Lying to her since the early days when she'd thought she'd glimpsed the man he'd once been behind the monster he now was. She'd been wrong and she'd seen through his lies just in time to stop him from murdering a man in cold blood.

And then, in the heat of the moment, she'd done the only thing she could think of to protect herself from being taken in by his explanations and excuses once more. No more second chances. No more prevarications. No more rationalizations. Right there, on the spot, she'd come up with a way for Killian and the rest of Storybrooke to be safe from his lies and schemes. She'd banished her husband, convinced that her pain and her tears at having to do so were proof that she was a Good person making a hard, but necessary choice.

She'd been an idiot. Only not in the way she'd thought.

It was as though her memories had become a kaleidoscope.

_That's not a deal. It's an attempt to extort a ransom._

With those two sentences, the tube rotated. And the puzzle pieces twisted, whirled, and settled down into a new pattern that depicted a very different image from the one she'd been seeing until now.

For seven weeks, she'd thought that Rumple had reneged on the deal he'd made with the so-called 'Queens of Darkness' all those years ago, because he'd never bargain away the smallest bit of his power, not even if it meant violating his own code of honor. But the truth, she suspected now, was something rather different—and far more complicated.

Cruella and the others had been using her to compel Rumple to do what they wanted. And yes, he'd given them the gauntlet. But had he not taken it back, then what would have prevented the three of them from seizing her again? And perhaps, they wouldn't have released her straight away a second time. Why would they, when they'd learned that Rumple considered her important enough to bargain for?

Rumple hadn't made a deal for her as she'd always believed. He'd paid a ransom. And then, once he'd seen her safely back to his castle, he'd gone to… educate them as to the dangers of playing that game.

When she'd found the gauntlet in the shop, she'd taken it as proof that even the integrity that kept him from breaking deals—one of the first qualities he had that she'd come to respect, back in the early days of their relationship—could be put aside when gaining more power was at stake. Why… why hadn't she thought a little harder, dug a little deeper?

_And while you were thinking and digging, he would have been crushing Killian's heart._

It was a comforting rationalization, but Belle realized now that if she hadn't already been wrestling with hurt and betrayal, she would have found another way to save the pirate.

_All I had to do was stop him. I didn't have to exile him on top of that. And certainly not when I believed it would be forever. And now…_

Now, Rumple was dying and it was her fault. And he had to know it, but he'd still begged to see her. Even after everything she'd done to him, Rumple had yet to voice a word of recrimination. And suddenly, she had to get away from everyone and find someplace where she could be alone with her thoughts and try to find the right path in a complicated maze where every turn seemed to lead somewhere deeper and darker.

So she ran, trying not to think about where she was going or how she was going to get back to the hotel if the others couldn't find her and left without her. She'd worry about that later. Right now…

She needed to be alone.

It was, perhaps, half an hour later when Rumple found her slumped against the outer wall of the greenhouse, her back to him, her shoulders heaving. "Belle?" he called hesitantly, his voice just above a whisper. When she didn't answer he drew closer. "Belle," he repeated. "Belle, please. Talk to me." He laid a hand gently on her shoulder, half-expecting her to jerk away from him. "What's the matter?"

She didn't jerk away. Instead, her hand came up to cover his and squeeze it tightly. When she slowly turned to face him, her face was red and blotchy and there were tear tracks on her cheeks. "Belle?"

Wordlessly, she extended one arm out wide and, when Rumple took a tentative step forward, pulled him in for a hug. "I'm sorry," Belle whispered, tightening her embrace. "I'm so sorry. I didn't understand."

It was Rumple's turn to be silent as he closed his eyes and hugged her back.

* * *

They spent, perhaps, another hour walking about the grounds. Later, Belle couldn't have described their route with any degree of certainty, which paths they'd taken, whether they'd walked through the gardens or the galleries. She wasn't paying attention to the scenery, apart from the minimal mindfulness required to avoid stumbling or walking into walls or lampposts. She just walked, her hand in Rumple's, feeling as though she'd just recovered something precious and not daring to analyse it too closely for fear of losing it once more.

Finally, Rumple guided her to a wooden bench and sank down heavily onto it. Belle followed suit. "I'm sure the others will come looking for us before long," Rumple said, leaning against the widely-spaced vertical logs that made up the bench's back.

"Should we head for the restaurant tables?" Belle asked.

Rumple winced. "I'm not sure I can move anymore," he admitted with a faint smile.

"Oh, no," Belle groaned. "I'm sorry for dragging you all over this place. You could have said something."

He was still holding her hand and he squeezed it tighter now. "It didn't occur to me until just now," he returned, still smiling. He took in the area. They were surrounded by trees and shrubbery on a forested hillside. He could see water down below, some sort of pond, he thought. "What is this area?" he asked.

Belle frowned for a moment, thinking. "I… I believe it must be the healing garden," she said. "I was reading about it on the ferry over."

Rumple nodded. "How appropriate," he said with a hint of his usual dry humor. His smile waned. "Belle—"

"Rumple—" she began at the same time.

Both broke off self-consciously.

"I'm sorry," Belle said, with a slight laugh. "You can go first."

"No," Rumple shook his head. "Th-that's all right."

"No, really," Belle's smile grew warmer. "You first."

"Oh no," Rumple insisted. "You."

"No, _you_."

Rumple lifted her hand and clasped it between both of his. "I'm just… happy that we're… talking. Again." His eyes glinted for a moment with a spark of humor that had been absent for far too long. "Though I suppose an impartial observer following us for the last hour or so might state otherwise."

Belle brought her free hand up to cover the back of Rumple's. "I don't know that one always needs words to talk," she said carefully. She took a breath. "That night when I…" she closed her eyes, but tightened her grip. "I was so angry. I didn't want to listen, didn't want to hear excuses or explanations and I…" She opened her eyes with some trepidation. Rumple was regarding her sadly, but without condemnation.

"I… don't imagine I can fault you for that," he admitted. "I've certainly given you scant reason to trust me."

"I still should have listened to your side. It… might have made a difference."

"Perhaps," Rumple nodded, "but not necessarily in my favor."

"I understand about the gauntlet now," Belle said. "I… I think, perhaps, I might be ready to try to understand the rest. If you're ready to tell me."

Rumple shook his head, even as he pressed her hand warmly. "I-I'd like to," he replied. "But not yet. I fear it won't be an easy tale to relate and I'd prefer more time to collect my thoughts."

What he really meant was that he was certain that once Belle knew the whole story, she'd be on her way back to Storybrooke, if she had to walk there and he wanted to hold on to this small new kernel of hope for a little while longer before his past actions crushed it to powder.

Perhaps Belle had some idea of his thoughts, for she didn't press him. Instead, she gave him a gentle smile, nodded, and said, "Sure. Whenever you're ready."

* * *

"We were just about to come looking for you," August greeted them when they returned to the dining area. "We need to start heading back if we're going to make it before rush hour."

For the scant seconds before August finished his last sentence, Rumple felt his heart leap. Then he sobered. They'd never make Storybrooke before rush hour, not even if they could somehow charter a plane to fly them there. August was talking about heading back to the hotel. His face betrayed nothing of his disappointment, though, as he nodded and took Belle's hand in his once more. She gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"I was just thinking," Emma said, "August and I have both lived here before. We know our way around. But if there's stuff either of you want to see or do, let us know. We'll work it in."

"Regardless of what you said yesterday in the hotel lobby," Rumple said testily, "this isn't a vacation."

"I know," Emma said. "But we can still do some sightseeing, as long as we're here." She hesitated. "Unless you want to spend the week in the hotel room, I mean."

Rumple turned her statement over in his mind looking for some hint of mockery or sarcasm. He didn't find one. Slowly, he shook his head. "The week? No. The rest of the afternoon? Perhaps."

"So, let's head back to the ferry," August suggested. "We can be back at the hotel in about an hour, hour and a half, tops."

"I'm not sure I can move in these heels anymore," Belle groaned. "Next time we're going to be doing a lot of walking, remind me to wear something more sensible."

Rumple's eyes widened. She hadn't voiced a word of complaint until now. "I wish you'd said something earlier," he said with a slight frown. "We could have rested longer."

Belle shook her head. "It wasn't bothering me earlier. It really only started on our walk back here." She lowered her voice. "Your ankle?" she asked.

Rumple sighed. "I'm used to it. It'll get me back to the ferry, worry not."

"I wish _you'd_ said something earlier," Belle said, smiling a bit self-consciously.

Although Rumple smiled back, he was still troubled. He hadn't exactly expected Belle to immediately take up his cause and tell the others that it was time for all four of them to head back to Storybrooke. He thought she might have said something about it, though. And his earlier hunch—that offering up information _gratis_ wouldn't be enough on its own to convince them—had, unfortunately, borne out. He'd need to step up his game to determine what would. If August and Belle thought that sharing the reasons for his earlier actions would help his cause, well, Rumple thought he knew better. It was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

And as for Emma, he was still probing, still looking for a weak spot in her defenses that he could penetrate and exploit. He'd done so with others before. It shouldn't be too difficult to do so again.

In fact… His eyebrows shot up. _In fact, perhaps, disclosing the rationale behind his actions would work in his favor, after all._


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

"I still haven't found the key," Henry related with a hint of frustration in his voice. "I've got the page with the picture in front of me. It's just a door. Kind of an old-fashioned door, but normal, you know?" He sighed. "I thought maybe a picture of a key would work on a picture of a door, but without seeing the inside of the keyhole, even if it's the right idea, it'd be pretty useless. And if I cut the page, I might destroy it so we never get the Author out. Or worse, if the whole room is in the page and cutting the page cuts the room, would I also slice through everything—or everyone—inside it?"

Emma winced. "Hey," she said into the phone, "when did you start getting so… gruesome?"

"Uh…" Henry hesitated. "You remember back in New York when I qualified for the advanced reading group in school?"

"Yes…"

"Mr. Thurgood _really_ liked Edgar Allan Poe."

Emma sighed. "I guess that's a better reason than too many violent video games. Maybe."

"At least, I haven't heard any hearts beating under floorboards lately," Henry pointed out.

"Oh, sheesh. I had to read 'The Telltale Heart' in grade seven, too," Emma remembered. "Right before Halloween."

Henry laughed at that. "No way."

"Yup. So," she changed the subject, "how is everything back home, now?" It still felt strange to think of Storybrooke as home, but it also felt right.

Henry thought for a moment. "Pretty quiet, I guess. For now. Hey, did you ask Grandpa about getting the fairies free, yet?"

Emma sighed. "Not yet. Hopefully, we'll get there. Or Regina will figure it out."

"Yeah. I can't believe you went to Snug Harbor without me."

"Would it help if I told you it was… completely boring, and a waste of time, and you probably would have hated it?"

"Really?" Henry perked up.

"No."

"Terrific."

Emma laughed and, a moment later, Henry joined her. They chatted for a bit longer before ending the call. Then she phoned her parents.

* * *

By the time Emma had finished talking to her parents and phoned Killian, Belle had emerged from the bathroom in a long velour robe, her damp hair hanging past her waist. "Forgot the blow-dryer," she mumbled, moving toward the valises. She sighed. "I suppose I should unpack tonight."

Emma finished the call and put her phone away. "If you want to," she smiled. "Though as long as you hung up anything likely to get wrinkled, that's probably all you had to do." She shrugged at Belle's slight frown. "Sorry. Old habits. When you're used to being on the move, you learn not to get too settled." She let out a breath. "I'm still working on _unlearning_ some of that."

"But we're going to be here for longer than a week, now," Belle said slowly. "Aren't we?"

Emma hesitated before she gave a slight nod. "Probably," she admitted.

"Do… do you think he'll change enough to come back? Or are we just… here until the…?" She bit her lip and looked away.

After a moment, Emma crossed the floor and rested a hand on her shoulder. "I don't know," she admitted. "I don't know much about any of this. I think August has the right idea in theory. In practice," she winced, "I'm not sure how it's going to play out. Or if it will." She shook her head when Belle turned to look at her. "He's been the Dark One for… how long?"

"Over a century," Belle said slowly. "Possibly close to two."

"And we're hoping he'll chuck that and change in a few days." Emma sighed. "He won't. He can't. I had way less to work through than he did and it took me a couple of years to admit that I finally had a real home and… and people who cared about me and that I was done with trying to make a life with as few… attachments as I could. I mean," she added with a hasty smile, "besides Henry. Gold's not going to do a one-eighty overnight. I don't think we'd believe him if he tried. Actually," she took a breath, "I think I'd settle for him trying. I just… I hope I can recognize it if he does. This time."

"This… time?"

Emma nodded. "You weren't in Neverland with the rest of us. You didn't see… It was… He thought Neal was dead. He believed that Henry would—"

"—be his… his undoing; I know that part of it." Belle shook her head. "He thought he was going to his death. As if, by saving Henry, it would somehow make up for losing his son."

"Or… he just didn't want to go on," Emma suggested. At Belle's angry start, she went on, "Look, a couple of minutes before we noticed Henry'd been taken, we thought the town was doomed. And Gold… when we went to ask his help in stopping the failsafe, Gold just said he'd made his peace with the idea of dying. He gave up years of his life working on a way to find his son. And when he thought he'd lost him…" She let out a breath. "Plus… I saw it with Regina, too. She wanted to go out as a hero. Or, at least, not as a villain. She was ready to give her life to buy the rest of us time to get away. And when the town was saved and we realized Henry was in danger, Gold was ready to give his life to save his grandson. The thing is… self-sacrifice, going out in a blaze of glory, in some ways, it's easier. I mean, if the choice is between spending your life trying to make amends for your past and change for the better—all the while knowing that, at worst, everyone thinks it's part of some scheme to catch everyone else off-guard, and at best, it's just a matter of time until you revert to type and they're all waiting to be proved right… or pulling one big sacrifice out of the hat, dying a hero, and hoping that people will remember that more than the rest of it…" She let her voice trail off as Belle nodded her understanding.

"Which is what happened in Neverland," Emma continued, after a pause. "As soon as we discovered the prophecy that Henry would be his undoing, we… we turned on Gold faster than…" She exhaled noisily. "You're not the first person to condemn him without a fair hearing. Or to have regrets after the fact. Or to wonder if you really should have acted differently, on the off-chance he wasn't trying to do what you thought he was, or if there's no way you could have known he wasn't just scheming like he always does."

She took another breath. "So, no, I don't expect him to suddenly turn around and slough off all that darkness. I'll settle for knowing he's trying to fight it. If he does that, then there's hope. And if there's hope… then I'm ready to give him a chance to win. Hell, if there's a way I can help him, I will; no way he should have to face this alone." She sighed heavily. "But if I can't know that, if it means he's going to spend his last days here instead? No way he should have to fact _that_ alone either."

Belle bit her lip and nodded.

* * *

He hated having to depend on the kindness of others. A line from a literary work that had been in his curse-memories surfaced. _I have always depended on the kindness of strangers._ That, Rumple reflected, would have been easier. Strangers wouldn't expect anything of him, good or bad. They wouldn't be scrutinizing his every action—and in the unlikely event that they would be, he wouldn't care. No, he was dependent on the kindness of those who knew him and knew full well the lengths he could go and the darkness into which he could sink.

For all they tried to hide it, Rumple knew that they were waiting for an excuse to tell him that he hadn't learned his lesson and he wasn't coming home with them. Unless they meant to stall until his time ran out and then apologize tearfully as he breathed his last. He had to keep that in mind and never forget it for a moment.

If he was to darken Emma's soul, then he had to believe that he had no other option. He had to believe that the three of them were just stringing him along with false hope. He had to believe that this latest scheme of his wasn't one more repetition of the same old pattern where he threw away what was truly important because he didn't recognize that he already had it in his grasp.

He had to forget that Emma had been quicker to forgive him for his trying to trick her into the hat than Belle had been for his trying to kill the pirate.

He had to survive and if his plan worked, he would.

He had to turn Emma dark.

Even if it killed him. He wrapped his fingers around the top of his cane, leaned his full weight upon it and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw that he'd bored a slight depression into the gray broadloom carpet.

* * *

They took the subway this time. After traipsing about Snug Harbor for the better part of the day, nobody felt much like walking to the restaurant. There wasn't much conversation. Emma and August were both lost in their own thoughts, and Rumple and Belle—sitting together and clasping hands—seemed lost in each other.

After they emerged from the subway and continued on foot for the last half-block, Rumple's smile seemed to fade with every step as his tension grew. For numerous reasons, he wasn't looking forward to what was to come.

When Belle slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, though, he managed a thin smile. Then he went back to rehearsing what he was going to say at dinner.

* * *

Once they'd been seated and placed their orders, the conversation came more freely, mostly about their earlier excursion. Rumple nodded in the right places, but added little, content to let the talk flow around him. It wasn't until the server came back to clear away the first course plates that he marshaled the small bit of courage he possessed, took a deep breath, and said, "Well. Much as I appreciate your patience, I imagine you're still curious as to the motives for my recent actions."

The other three exchanged startled glances. Then Belle and August smiled and Emma confessed, "I wasn't exactly sure the right way to bring it up, but… yeah."

Gold raised an eyebrow. "The other two apparently favored a direct approach," he said dryly. His smirk fell away almost as soon as it appeared and he reached for the water pitcher to refill his glass. Somehow, he was able to keep his hand from shaking, though he wondered whether they could hear his heart pounding in his chest. Self-disclosure didn't come easily to him. But with everything at stake, he saw no real choice.

He meant only to take a sip of water to fortify himself, but he found himself draining the glass. He quickly poured another, stopping just before the liquid overflowed. "I…" He took another breath. "I suppose I should begin at the beginning…"


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some dialogue lifted from: S4E19, "Lily"; S3E16, "It's Not Easy Being Green". Flashbacks reference: S3E20, "Kansas"; S4E1, "A Tale of Two Sisters".

**Chapter Sixteen**

The silence stretched. Rumple imagined that it likely hadn't been thirty seconds since he'd finished his last sentence, but those seconds felt like an eternity. He knew he could change his mind. He knew he didn't need to open up to all of them at once. He could apologize to Belle privately, then to Emma. And Booth… well, he didn't think he had much to apologize for on that front, but it might be taken as a sign of good character and a willingness to change his ways if he did. Small lies to comb out rough tangles, why everyone did that.

Then again, Booth had apologized to him in front of the others, even though he must have anticipated the reactions he received. An involuntary smile flickered briefly over his lips. Booth might have guessed their responses, but it had been a pleasant surprise to Rumple to hear both Belle and Emma roundly condemning the puppet's earlier actions. It was rare that anyone took his part without being strong-armed into it.

Maybe they were telling the truth when they told him that nothing had been decided yet. Maybe.

He took another breath, locked his eyes with Belle's, and began.

"Unlike Booth, I… I won't ask for forgiveness," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I've no right to it. Belle. I spent every day of our marriage deceiving you, when I should have been trying to make you happy. And now… I fear it may be too late. My heart is nearly black. If I continue hurting you," he looked around the table at the others in turn, "then there is no hope for me." He forced himself to meet Emma's eyes. _'Darkening' didn't have to mean 'hurting'_ , he reminded himself. It was a change, and changes weren't always negative. Had he not become the Dark One, Bae would have died at fourteen. He would have been long dead before Snow White was ever born. And so would Rumple have been. And then, Cora would have been executed by the man who became her father-in-law. Regina would never have been born. There would have been no procuring James for King George. No catapulting David into his place, or giving him an opportunity to meet his true love. No Emma. No Henry. Would things truly have been better had he never stolen the dagger from the duke's castle and slain Zoso? No. Whether he'd intended it or not, his actions _had_ benefited the Light as well as the Dark, and it would be nice if someone else recognized it once in a while.

Belle regarded him searchingly for a moment. Then she sighed. "I just… I don't understand why you gave me the false dagger. I never asked for the real one. I-I tried to give it back to you. But you insisted. Why… why would you have…?"

Rumple smiled sadly. "I'm surprised you need to ask," he replied. "But, for an answer… think back a moment, Belle. Recall the events leading up to my actions…"

* * *

_He should have realized it when Regina grabbed the dagger. Nobody really cared that Zelena had kept him caged and enslaved for the better part of a year. Oh, they cared that she could use him as a weapon against them. They cared that he might revenge himself on her before they could convene to determine her fate. But beyond that? Their thoughts were on returning the infant to his mother and taking the witch into custody. On protecting the witch from the fate she so richly deserved._

_Villains weren't supposed to get happy endings. Surely, after he'd redeemed himself by saving the town from Pan, he was no longer a villain? Surely, Fate recognized that the dark acts he'd committed since then had been under duress? Surely, Zelena was, at the very least, entitled to the same indifference with which he was generally treated?_

If Zelena had decided to stab me and become the Dark One in turn, and had any of that lot been in a position to prevent it, would they have? Or would they have decided that one Dark One was much like another and that it was wisest to 'step aside and let us settle things between ourselves'?

_Instead, Regina had ordered him to stand down. And then, Storybrooke's so-called heroes had figuratively patted one another on the back and gone off to bring the infant to the hospital, the witch to a holding cell… and leave him behind to make his own way back to town as best he could._

_Clearly, he was meant to take their failure to arrest him as tacit acknowledgment that they understood he'd been compelled to attack them. But it was also plain that they weren't interested in his past suffering, nor his current well-being. Their leaving him alone was all he could expect or hope for._

_He was still shaking his head as he teleported himself back to the shop._

* * *

It felt as though the floor beneath Emma's chair had collapsed and she was hurtling into an abyss. What _had_ they been thinking?

 _I saw him yank Zelena off her feet and drag her across the ground. I knew he was going to do something horrible to her. I didn't want to watch. I couldn't look away. I thought I had to try to stop him somehow, but without_ my _magic, there was nothing I could do. And then, Regina used the dagger and…_

And Emma had stood there and let her.

 _Did I realize that Gold was hurting then and just… told myself he'd get over it? Or was I completely oblivious? Seriously? Are those my only choices? Was I callous or was I clueless?_ Seriously?

What else could she have done? Told Regina to stay out of it and watch Gold murder her sister?

_What have I been doing since we got to Manhattan? I've been trying to listen, trying to understand, trying to see his side. And even if I'm still not ready to do what he really wants, I haven't been ignoring him or pretending I don't know what he must be going through. Why couldn't I have tried doing some of this back then?_

Would it have even helped? Gold was the Dark One. If he wanted to do something, he'd find a way.

_Okay. Try another question. If he'd had any reason to think that we gave a damn about him, would he have been so quick to strike a deal with the Snow Queen? If I'd stood up for him after the battle, would he still have tried tricking me into the hat? Yeah. Probably. Except that in the Sorcerer's Mansion, when I asked him point-blank what he'd do in my place, he told me the truth. Sure, he made it sound like he expected me to make a better choice than he would, but… I think he was trying to give me a warning anyway. Maybe…_

She covered her eyes with her hand. "You shouldn't have had to say anything about this," she murmured. "We all should have realized without your pointing it out. But since we all missed what should have been obvious, I… wish you had talked about it. Before this."

Gold raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think it would have made a difference, dearie?" he asked more curiously than sarcastically.

Despite what she'd just been thinking, it was still on the tip of her tongue to exclaim that yes, of course it would have, that sometimes they could all be short-sighted, but once they realized where they were screwing up, they always did their best to try to fix things.

_Unless we've screwed up where he's concerned._

The abyss yawned before her once more as she swallowed the words she'd been about to say. Why would he point anything out to them when he'd just watched Regina's magic shift from Dark to Light and then, two minutes later, had her deny him the justice—okay, maybe it had been justice all mixed up with vengeance, but still justice—he was demanding? Why _should_ he want to show Zelena any mercy? Had she shown him any?

It was easy to take the high road when you weren't the one bearing the brunt of suffering.

Suddenly, Regina's little speech about Good magic carrying the day seemed to reek of smug self-righteousness. What she'd really been saying was that all the pain and humiliation that Zelena had heaped on Gold…

…didn't matter.

_And we all stood there and let her. Not one of us protested. Not one of us even looked at her sideways. So why should Gold think anybody gave a damn about what she'd put him through?_

_Did we?_

_Did_ I? _At least, enough that I would have taken his part at the time if I'd only realized what was happening? Or would I have still just… followed the crowd, and walked away?_

"I… don't know," she admitted miserably. "But I want to think it would have."

Gold snorted at that. "You can think whatever you wish, dearie. Particularly when you're talking about a thing that _might_ have happened. Since there's no way to be certain, well, there's no way to prove or disprove your hypothesis. I suspect, though, that we can both envision a far likelier scenario."

Emma was silent.

Gold nodded with a faint smirk. His point had been made. And then, the smirk became a weary smile. "Well," he continued, returning to his narrative. "At any rate. I returned to the shop. And…"

* * *

_He hadn't been back to the shop since the day he'd died. Zelena hadn't given him leave to take a detour on any of the rare occasions when she'd dispatched him on some errand. It was odd to return after all this time and find so little had changed. He touched the stained-glass lampshade of a piece that had been in the shop for as long as he could remember and marveled at how remarkably solid a thing so easily shattered could be._

_He laid his hand down flat on a portable writing desk, felt the cool smooth wood beneath his palm, and looked up to find himself gazing at his own reflection. Odd. He would have expected his recent experiences to have marked him more visibly, but no. Perhaps his eyes were a bit sadder. Perhaps his weariness showed through chinks in the calm mask he generally wore in these surroundings. But on the whole, outwardly, he appeared much as he always had._

_The bell over the door jangled and Belle walked in, sunlight from the street outside streaming behind her. For a moment, he wondered whether she still wanted him or whether the others had succeeded in turning her against him. Then she smiled and everything was right again as they fell into each other's arms._

_He could scarcely dare to believe that she still stood with him after everything that had happened, but even more unbelievable was the blade she pulled forth from her handbag and offered him. A mark of love and, more than that, of overwhelming trust. And he knew that such a gift deserved—demanded—a gesture in kind. He knew what it must be._

_"_ Just promise me one thing... promise me you won't go after Zelena. You're... I know you're better than that."

_While he knew his outward expression hadn't changed, he felt his blood freeze. On an intellectual level, he knew it was a request, not a command. But he had just spent months forced to obey the woman who had held the weapon for so long. And even an alleged hero had commanded him without qualm, for all that her subsequently relinquishing the dagger to Belle seemed to reflect a subsequent change of heart or twinge of remorse._

_He'd always been a coward. Under the witch's control, it hadn't mattered. Commands had to be carried out no matter how he felt about them. It was far easier—and safer—to wall away as much emotion as he could. The more vulnerability he displayed, the more she had to use against him. It had only been days ago that she'd forced him to live Bae's funeral—from the bottom of the grave as the others shoveled dirt down over the coffin. He could still feel earth and pebbles pelting him now and his heart began to pound as the memory came back full-force._

"You've spent so long figuring out how to get to this land, groomed Regina to cast your curse, spent twenty-eight years waiting for it to be broken, all that you can be with your son. Now, he's gone. Tell me, Rumple, was he really worth all that trouble?"

_He would have given anything to be able to rip her heart out through her throat, to rend her limb from limb, but keep her alive and conscious through it all, to break the magical law that prevented one from raising the dead—and then kill and resurrect her a thousand times over. But she'd been holding his dagger and he'd been caged and helpless, crumpled in a heap on the filthy floor with no choice but to answer her._

"Every bit of it. He was family…"

_Belle hadn't issued a command. But at that moment, all he registered was that whether she meant to or not, her request was an attempt to control his actions. He loved her. He wanted to make her happy. And had his freedom not come about so recently, perhaps he would not have done as he did next. His cowardice stirred and warned him that he could not—dared not—surrender control to anybody. Not even Belle._

* * *

Belle shook her head sadly. "But I never asked you to," she protested. "If I had, I'd understand better, but you fooled me with a copy of the dagger when I never would have dreamed of asking you to give up the real one!"

His smile carried an echo of the sorrow in her voice. "I meant what I said to you when I did," he replied. "That what you were giving me was more than I could ever give you." He closed his eyes. "What you said to me on the night you banished me was the truth, Belle. I'd never given up power for you. But I-I wanted to." He looked away for a moment, then met her eyes once more. "I did. A grand romantic gesture." His lips twitched in a half-smile that was, for once, self-deprecating but without mockery. "You'd shown me that you trusted me to do what was right without being commanded to do so. I wanted to show you what you wanted: that I _could_ put you before my magic. That I trusted you with the key to controlling it. But…" He opened his eyes again and shook his head. "You've known me for some time, Belle. I haven't always been the Dark One. However…" He took another breath. "I _have_ always been a coward." His gaze flickered from one face to the other and he nodded to himself. His companions appeared startled by his disclosure, but from the expressions on their faces, he'd wager it wasn't because they didn't know, but because they'd never expected him to own up to it. He hadn't revealed anything that wasn't already common knowledge. And, with those suspicions confirmed, he felt himself relax. He took another breath.

"In that moment," he continued, "I knew I couldn't part with the dagger. But, Belle, I still wanted to give you a token of the trust you'd given me. So. I created the duplicate and let you believe it was real. And I let myself believe it was real enough."

Belle let out a long breath and sank in her chair, but she leaned slightly toward him as she did. "Oh, Rumple…"

"I-I tried," he said quickly. "When you brought me to the Sorcerer's mansion, I meant to give you the real one in place of the copy. I even made the switch. But then, I discovered something I'd never expected to see again. Particularly not sitting on a side table in plain view, as though it were some conversation piece…"

* * *

He'd miscalculated. He knew it as soon as the words left his mouth. He was off-track and he needed to steer the conversation back in its previous direction. He needed the savior suffused with regret, drowning in despair and disillusionment. He couldn't force her to choose Darkness, of course. It had to be her decision. But he needed to bring her to the brink of the chasm.

Once before, she'd had her view of the world shattered, but her newfound family and friends had been there to help her make sense of what was, to her, a completely different reality. If Rumple could show her that the mindset she'd all-too-recently embraced was also deeply flawed, if he could erode her trust and respect for those closest to her…

…She'd be adrift, confused, and angry. She'd be drowning in a maelstrom of emotion, disillusioned and desperate to find some way to make sense of the world once more.

In short, she'd be ripe for the sort of guidance Rumple was all-too-adept at providing.

He never should have brought up the hat. He should have gently worked on Emma's sympathies, reminding her of all the times that her parents, Regina, and the other so-called heroes had tricked and tormented him. He could have played up what had sometimes been necessary discomfort—those months he'd spent locked in an underground cell on her parents' orders—until it sounded as though they'd inflicted the worst tortures imaginable on him. He should have told Belle—now, in the savior's hearing—how he'd mourned her death, when all that time Regina—who currently seemed to be one of Emma's closest friends—had kept her shut away.

The hat was irrelevant to all of that.

And yet, he needed Belle to understand that he would have actually done the right thing and given her the true dagger, had he not recognized the object in the mansion.

Well, he couldn't shy away from the topic, now. He'd been the one to bring it up. Besides, it might be best to let the savior brood over the points he'd already mentioned. Let her misery fester. In the morning, he could pick at the sore spot a bit more and see what oozed out. Meanwhile, perhaps a change of subject _was_ a good idea.

By the time he'd finished speaking, all three of the others were frowning. As he'd expected. But while nobody clasped his arm or shoulder this time, nobody got up and left in fury either.

Finally, Emma sighed. "There's no way in hell that what you did to the fairies or what you tried to do to me and Killian was okay," she said in a voice thick with anger. Rumple lowered his eyes in silent acknowledgment. Then Emma took another breath. "But that's not all that's bothering me."

Rumple glanced up again. "Oh?"

Emma nodded. "I want to make sure I understand this. It sounds to me like whenever you had a spare moment between trying to come up with the Dark Curse and striking deals with anyone nuts enough to knock on your door, you were trying to find that hat and get it to-to untether you from the dagger, right?"

One of Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "Well, I wouldn't say that was my only pastime, dearie. I did get a fair amount of straw spun in those years. But, yes, searching for the hat was something that occupied my attention, off and on."

"And then you lose it to the Snow Qu—to _Ingrid_ , before the curse hits and the next time you see it is in the sorcerer's mansion."

"Correct."

"Just lying there in the open, like some-some ashtray or paperweight."

"Indeed."

Emma's frown deepened, but when she spoke again, the hint of anger that had been present in her voice since Rumple'd finished his narrative had vanished. "So, in other words," she said slowly, "right after you finally got free from Zelena, right when the experience of being completely under someone else's control was probably uppermost in your mind, you just… stumbled upon the one thing that could prevent something like that from happening to you again. No guard, no protection spell, the only thing missing was a 'Take me' sign?"

Gold froze. He thought he saw where she was going with her questions, but surely, she didn't mean to say... His mouth was suddenly dry and he wished that the server would come by with a fresh water pitcher. He looked around the restaurant quickly, but none of the wait-staff were about. "What exactly are you insinuating, Ms Swan?" he managed.

Emma exhaled noisily. "I think someone set you up."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allusions to some material used in S5. No major plot points spoiled, though.

**Chapter Seventeen**

Gold's eyes grew wide. He wasn't certain what was more astonishing: Emma's suggestion or the fact that she was making it scant moments after he'd brought up his attempt to betray her and trick her into the hat—to say nothing of planning to murder the man she appeared to love. Instead of berating him, she seemed willing to put those subjects aside and find an excuse for his actions that, frankly, hadn't occurred to him before now.

But it should have. He knew how many safeguards should have surrounded that hat. The Apprentice should have had it in his care at all times—under lock, key, and a plethora of magical defenses. Why _had_ it been lying out in the open as though waiting for him?

Who…?

"Who would set me up?" he blurted out in his shock, even as he felt his face grow hot. _Who wouldn't?_ Well, besides, perhaps, the three people with him now. He shook his head. "What I mean," he went on, "is who would have the means, the motive, and the opportunity to do so?" That was better. He felt his features relax into their customary sardonicism. "I promise you, dearie, that list is a good deal shorter than you might think."

"I hear that," Emma admitted. "Ingrid had the hat last, as far as we know. Only, I don't get why she'd leave it out for you in a place you probably would never have gone if," she glanced quickly at Belle, "Belle hadn't decided the mansion would make a great romantic getaway."

She looked at Belle again. "Even if you'd somehow… I don't know, stopped off for an ice cream the afternoon before the wedding and talked about your honeymoon plans with her—you didn't, did you?" she asked abruptly. When Belle shook her head, Emma nodded and went on, "I didn't think so. But even if you had, that would mean that she'd need to rush over to the mansion and leave the hat. And from what I've seen, rushing isn't something Ingrid usually did."

She looked at Rumple once more. "She had a long time to set her plans in motion. I mean, maybe not compared to you," she amended, flushing slightly, "but she wasn't immortal," she went on, "and she was preparing for this… for me… for over thirty years. I… guess she might have thought giving you the hat would keep you busy so she could do what she needed, but we know she wasn't someone who'd leave much to chance. Why would she have gone to the trouble of planting the hat when she could have just given it to you outright?"

Rumple nodded, taking no offense at being compared to the Snow Queen. Emma was merely echoing his own assessment. "She was deliberate indeed," he agreed. "And, as I told you, Elsa was my leverage for convincing her to surrender the hat to me. Once you released the queen of Arundel from the urn, well, I can't think why the Snow Queen would still choose to part with it."

"Mind you," August said, "she was ready to let you leave Storybrooke, rather than have you in town to threaten her. Maybe she thought letting you get the hat was worth it. You know, let you keep your magic outside Storybrooke to sweeten the deal?"

Gold considered that. "If she had," he said slowly, "I rather think the savior's point was well-made. The Snow Queen would have come to me directly and offered me an opportunity to bargain with her for the hat. And," he added with a glance in Emma's direction, "I expect that among the terms of any deal we might have struck, there would have been a guarantee that I would leave Ms Swan to her and not attempt to acquire her magic for the hat.

"Ingrid and I did understand each other rather well," he went on. "And you're quite correct, Emma: we had much in common. Ruthless singlemindedness, a quest for family, a certain pragmatism… No, she never would have surrendered the hat without clearly delineating the terms under which I might take possession." He shook his head. "Not her style. Also," he added, "consider that when I discovered the hat, Ingrid had not yet revealed her presence in Storybrooke. So far as she knew at the time, she held all the cards and all the leverage. She had no reason to give me the hat at that time."

"So," August said, "that would seem to suggest that, at some point before she came to Storybrooke, she lost it."

"I suspect so," Gold nodded.

"Then… who found it?" Belle asked.

Gold shook his head as a faint smile played on his lips. "That," he said slowly, "is an excellent question…."

* * *

The rest of the evening passed in relative silence. Their desserts came and sat untouched, though several cups of tea and coffee were downed.

"I guess we should get them boxed up?" Belle suggested finally, motioning toward the pastries.

Emma nodded automatically. "No point wasting them at these prices," she agreed.

August motioned to a nearby server, as Belle excused herself to go freshen up.

Emma sighed. "I'm going to go grab my coat," she murmured. "You want me to get yours while I'm up, Gold?"

For a long moment, Rumple said nothing. Then, without looking at her, he said something so softly she couldn't quite make it out.

"Sorry?"

He shook his head. "How can you do it?"

She'd half-risen, but she sank back onto the cushioned bench. "Do what?" she asked.

He hesitated, weighing his words slowly and carefully. "You know the truth now. You know exactly what I wanted to do. And what the cost would have been. And yet, here you are. Still…" He met her eyes now, somewhat nervously. "Undecided?"

Emma nodded.

"How is it that you're still willing to consider my request?" he asked, genuinely curious.

It was Emma's turn to hesitate. She guessed what it was costing Gold to ask the question, to expose the uncertainty and vulnerability that he usually kept carefully hidden. She knew more than a thing or two about keeping her own walls up, even when she recognized that it was safe to let them down. And Gold lowered his even less frequently.

She picked up her napkin and began fiddling with it, wishing she knew more about origami and wondering if it could be done with linen as well as paper. "Uh…" she began, "a couple of years back, someone I respect noticed I had a few trust issues and challenged me to take a leap of faith. I kinda thought wanting someone to open up—especially someone who usually likes to play his hand close to his chest was probably demanding the same thing. And—well, for me, anyway, it's kinda easier said than done. Just in case it's like that for you too, I thought maybe it'd help if I leaped first." She looked up from her napkin a trifle apprehensively, braced for an angry retort and instructions to mind her own business.

Gold was still regarding her, his feelings now masked as usual, but there was something softer in his eyes that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Well," he said, affecting his normal crisp tone, "I suppose some thanks are in order, then, Emma."

"Not just from you," Emma replied. "I… Some of what you opened up about was pretty hard to hear. Probably because Henry's always called me a hero," she went on with a self-deprecating smile. "And what parent doesn't want to be that for their kid?"

"Indeed," Gold returned. "But I don't see what that has to do with anything I related this evening."

Emma's smile dropped. "I guess it doesn't," she admitted. "Because after what you told us tonight, it's," she sighed, "probably going to be a long time before I start thinking of myself as a hero again. If ever." She slid to the edge of the bench and got up. "But that's not your problem, it's mine." There was a hard lump in her throat and she forced herself to speak past it. "What happened after the battle was way out of line. I should have realized it and done something then. I messed up and I'm sorry."

Gold closed his eyes. "You were powerless," he allowed. "And it was Regina—not you—who picked up my dagger."

"I should have confronted her," Emma replied. "If not right then and there, then afterwards. And leaving you behind was dead wrong. I can't believe nobody said anything about it before this." She took another breath. "So, thanks for letting me know just how badly we all screwed up. The worst part of it is that, like I told you before, you shouldn't have had to."

She reached across the table and rested her hand on Gold's shoulder for a moment before she headed off in the direction of the coat rack.

* * *

He had to stay focused on the end-game. He couldn't let his feelings interfere with his goal. He couldn't afford to leave things to chance. There was no backup plan.

_She was one of the most powerful practitioners of Light magic he'd ever met and she didn't have any qualms about associating with him. It was more than being comfortable in his company. Many heroes were willing to work with him if it suited their purpose, but they kept him at arm's length, as though he was a viper who would turn on them at any moment. Not that he blamed them, of course. Such was often the case. But he couldn't deny that it still hurt. Particularly in those instances when he was truly trying to be helpful._

He brought his fingers to the shoulder of his suit, touching the spot where Emma had clasped it. Until yesterday, he would never have expected such a gesture on her part. The savior generally kept her emotional barriers high—something Rumple understood and appreciated all too well.

She'd dropped them in the hotel lobby. For him. She'd reached out to him, reassured him, claimed him for family…

…And if she knew what he was plotting, she'd run out of this establishment now and not look back.

Part of him honestly hoped she would.

The other part—the part bent on survival at any cost—seemed to rub its hands together and giggle. If she was already on his side and willing to trust him, it would make turning her all the easier.

"Uh," Emma was back already, two coats draped neatly over her arm. "Sorry, you never did get around to telling me if you wanted me to bring yours back for you."

He forced himself to smile as he reached for his coat.

Emma smiled back. "Don't worry," she said, apparently misreading his hesitation. "I made sure my hands were clean before I picked it up."

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "Thank you, Emma," he murmured, not meeting her eyes. "I-I do appreciate that."

"Hey." Her hand was back on his shoulder again. "Hey, you okay?"

He'd throw her solicitousness back in her face if he didn't think he'd break down right here in the restaurant if he tried to speak now. So he clasped her hand and forced himself to nod.

The imp in his mind chortled. _Keep playing it this way, dearie, and when the right moment arrives, she'll never even see it coming…_

* * *

Belle waited until the door to their hotel room shut behind them before she asked Emma the question she'd been waiting to. "After the battle with Zelena, did it really happen the way Rumple said it did?"

Emma sank down on her bed and nodded. "Yeah."

"Regina told me she had to use the dagger to stop him from killing Zelena, but as to the rest of it…"

Emma lowered her head and hunched forward. "Go ahead and say it," she replied. "It won't be worse than what I've been telling myself all evening."

Belle joined Emma on the bed. "It's not as bad as what I did to him," she admitted slowly.

"Will?"

Belle shook her head. "No. I mean, yes that was bad, but… I didn't think I'd ever see Rumple again when I took up with him, and I was still angry, and…" She closed her eyes. "And... And it wasn't as bad a betrayal as it could have been. Things between Will and me didn't get to that… point," she mumbled, coloring slightly. "We… we went out together. We kissed. It never went further."

Emma let out a breath. "It's none of my business, really," she said. "And if it helps, during the first curse, I know my parents did some things they wouldn't have if they'd remembered who they were. Or that they were married to each other."

"It doesn't help," Belle said after a moment.

"I know," Emma admitted with a loud sigh.

For a few moments, they sat together silently. Finally, Belle spoke again. "You know, I've been thinking a lot about what Will told me. About how I like… fixing things. Or people."

Emma nodded. "Uh-huh."

"But… isn't that what heroes do? Fix things?"

Emma hesitated. "Sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

Emma locked her eyes on Belle and took a moment to collect her thoughts. "Not everything is always broken," she said slowly, "just because it isn't working the way you think it should."

Belle let out a long sigh. "You mean, if I have a cottage, I shouldn't get angry that it isn't a castle."

"I guess," Emma nodded, sounding surprised. "Not how I would have phrased it, but yeah."

Belle sighed again. "Something else Will told me." She shook her head. "I thought… You-you're going to think I'm being silly. When I was little, my favorite book was a novel about love and compassion and…" A faint smile came to her face. "I suppose the plot sounds a bit trite, now I think about it. _Her Handsome Hero._ A village girl goes to plead with her feudal lord to forgive the taxes her family owes her. The lord has a reputation for cruelty, but he's moved to mercy by the girl and offers to forgive the debt if she consents to live in his castle. It was all extremely proper," Belle added hastily. "He had an aunt living with him who took charge of the girl. And over time, he became kinder, she grew to love him and…" Belle's smile grew pained. "I suppose some of that _might_ have been going through my head when I consented to the Dark One's deal: he'd protect my duchy if _I_ consented to live in his castle.

Emma smiled. "It sounds a little like something out of a Harlequin romance," she said dryly.

Belle didn't smile back. "Maybe, in my mind, I sort of cast Rumple in the title role and thought that in time, if I played the role of Charlotte—the heroine, then like Lord Dumont, Rumple would become…"

"Belle, do you love him?" Emma asked. "Or do you love the guy you want him to be?"

Belle sucked in her breath. "I love him," she said slowly. "I've always loved him. But when he gives in to Darkness…"

"I know," Emma said. "But it's part of him. When you love a person, it's a package deal. You can't just toss out the parts you don't like."

Belle considered that for a moment and ducked her head in acknowledgment. "Why didn't Charlotte have to deal with anything like this?"

Emma smiled again, this time a bit ruefully. "Maybe, that's part of the problem, Belle. You were reading the wrong books. Instead of _Her Handsome Hero_ , maybe you should have picked up something like _Wuthering Heights_ …"

* * *

August was whittling again. He'd set himself a challenge: a carved jug, no thicker than his thumb and, perhaps, two inches high. When finished, it would take a small cork stopper. Every so often, he paused from hollowing out the jug, to glance at the second bed, on which Rumpelstiltskin sat, holding the TV remote, facing the screen. The news was on, but August suspected that Rumple's thoughts were a million miles away.

When the program ended, Rumple gave no sign that he was aware that some black-and-white sitcom from decades earlier had come on. August waited for a moment before he set down his knife. "Uh," he cleared his throat, "I was thinking I'd turn in in around half an hour."

Rumple blinked, coming back to his surroundings. Then he gave a slow nod.

"Unless you wanted to talk."

Now he turned to face August. "Wasn't this evening enough?"

"It was for me," August said with an easy smile. "At least until Emma suggested that—"

Rumple nodded abruptly. "Yeah."

"So…?"

Rumple sighed. "I'm afraid I've nothing further to add on the subject."

August started folding up the newspapers he'd spread over his work area, taking care that no detritus fell out. "Okay."

"It makes no sense," Rumple said with some measure of irritation. "Nobody else in Storybrooke even knew of the hat's existence. If they had, they wouldn't have left it lying in the open if they had it in their possession and knew what it was."

"What if they didn't?" August suggested.

Rumple didn't answer for a moment. Then he sighed heavily. "Belle was under the impression that the mansion was uninhabited and unclaimed. It wasn't there during the first curse; it only arrived with the second."

"You think Snow and David had something to do with it?"

"No," Rumple said thoughtfully. "While the curse was designed to shape itself according to the will of its caster, neither of those charming individuals possess even rudimentary magical ability. Snow might have cast the curse, but she would have been following Regina's instructions in order to do so."

"So, Regina wanted the mansion in Storybrooke?"

Rumple's expression was troubled. "She might have wanted _a_ mansion, though really, her own residence is grand enough. But while the town was created by the curse, I don't believe that the mansion was. When I said that it _arrived_ in Storybrooke, I meant exactly that: it wasn't created by the curse. It was _transported_ by it. Regina didn't bring it the first time. That would suggest strongly that she didn't know of its existence. And the architectural style…" He looked at August seriously. "Not something I ever encountered in our land."

"Me either, come to think of it," August said, frowning now. "And I did do a bit of traveling for a time. But… Regina didn't just bring over people from the Enchanted Forest."

"No, but while she transported most of the population of our realm en masse, those she brought from elsewhere were those she meant to. People with whom she'd had some history. While many objects and artifacts made the crossing as well, I'm not aware of any other residence that did. No, the mansion wasn't part of Storybrooke originally. And if it's not native to our land, then Regina didn't know it existed. Which would also mean that she didn't intend to have Snow bring it in the second casting."

"So, how did it get there?"

Rumple took a deep breath. "Just because Regina didn't intend to bring the mansion to Storybrooke doesn't mean that someone else didn't arrange it. You may or may not be aware, but Snow never meant for the second curse to steal our memories of the year away. That was Zelena's doing. Once the curse had been cast and the forces unleashed, she slipped a forgetting potion into Regina's cauldron. I suppose it's possible that someone wishing to cross realms could have harnessed some thread of the curse and twisted it to their purpose."

August frowned. "Any idea as to who?"

"No," Rumple admitted. "Well. I suppose the sorcerer whose hat I appropriated would be the likeliest culprit. However, he wouldn't have needed a dark curse for transportation. And, more importantly, Emma's point was well-made. When I attempted to acquire the hat in the past, it was heavily protected. It makes no sense that those safeguards would have been neutralized now. In fact," he continued slowly, "the entire mansion should have been under a protection spell. Perhaps disguised to look like something less conspicuous as well. Frankly, I'm surprised that Belle and I were able to cross its threshold without triggering some sort of security system." He shook his head, a puzzled frown on his face. "It makes no sense whatsoever."

August smothered a yawn and stole a glance at his watch. "It's later than I thought. Maybe if we sleep on it, things'll seem clearer in the morning."

Rumple sniffed. "It's going to take more than one night to sort this one out, dearie," he said, injecting a note of lightness. Then, in a more serious tone, he amended, "but I suppose I should try to get some rest, regardless. Doubtless you and Emma have another full day planned for tomorrow."

"Nah," August grinned. "We'll figure it out at breakfast." He yawned. "If we don't sleep through it." He gathered the newspapers together and carried them to the wastebasket. "G'nite, Mr. Gold."

He almost missed Rumple's soft, 'Good night' in response.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

The hospital room was gloomier than Rumple remembered. From somewhere down the hall, he could hear tortured moans—a sound he knew full well from the days when he'd been new to his Dark power and gone about eliciting similar sounds from those who had scorned and abused him in his past. But these sounds weren't his doing; he'd given all that up over thirty years ago. The lighting was low and the machines beeped loudly. He wasn't sure what he was doing back here; he didn't think he'd suffered another attack. He thought of trying to ring for a nurse, but his limbs felt heavy and slow to respond. Strangely, this sluggishness didn't strike him as unusual, nor as any cause for alarm. He settled back, looking longingly at the call button, just out of reach.

There was a storm going on outside; he could hear the rain pelting the window. As he recalled from his earlier stay, there was no latch, nor any other way to open it; it was just a solid sheet of glass embedded in the wall. Somehow, though, the draperies billowed toward him, as though propelled by the winds without. Strong winds, he noted almost clinically. Rather like what he'd imagined a cyclone to be.

And then, lightning flashed, impossibly bright and he closed his eyes to shield them.

He was debating with himself whether it was safe to open them again. He was still sluggish, still lethargic, and he wasn't sure if it was worth expending so much energy on such a trivial matter. He knew what the room looked like after all.

Then he heard a musical laugh and his eyes flew open of their own accord to behold the shape of a woman silhouetted against the wall, her face in shadow. There was something wrong about that. He knew how shadows were wont to behave and there was something off about this one. Then the woman came forward and another flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room—and the woman's green skin.

_Zelena!_

He tried to scream, to reach for the call button, anything, but she was holding his dagger and there was a gleam in her eye as she drew nearer his bed. She gripped the hilt in both hands and raised it over her head. And then he saw the blade plunge downward toward his unprotected chest and he was helpless to do anything but lie there and wait for it—

_No! No… don't…!_

* * *

His eyes flew open and he threw up his arms, flinging away the blankets. He was in the hotel. There was no sign of Zelena. It had all been a dream.

No. Not all. The moaning was still present, but it was coming from the other bed. Rumple felt a pang. It appeared that he wasn't the only person having a difficult night. Booth was jerking spasmodically, his bedclothes crumpled on the floor.

"Wait…" Booth mumbled. "Please, don't! No. No, give me another chance. I'll be good. Please!"

Rumple closed his eyes, debating with himself for a moment. Then he reached for his cane, knowing he'd leaned it against the nightstand before Booth had turned out the lights. Slowly, laboriously, he got up and crossed the short distance between the two beds.

"Booth," he whispered, shaking the other man gently. "It's all right. You're safe, dearie. You can wake up. It's just a dream…"

August gasped and clutched at Rumple's hand. Then he drew a deep shuddering breath, and nodded. His eyes flew open and locked on Gold's. A horrified expression came to his face.

"You're safe," Rumple repeated. "It was only a dream."

* * *

A few minutes later, both men sat on the edges of their respective beds, facing one another. "Uh…" August shifted his position uncomfortably. "I'm sorry I woke you."

Gold shook his head. "Don't be," he replied. "My slumber was likely as," he gave a slight cough, " _restful_ as yours this evening. I can't say I regret quitting it early."

"Still," August said, "if I'd known it was still a problem, I would've given you a heads-up."

Gold's brow furrowed. "Still?"

"Yeah," August sighed. "I guess, what with being caged and enslaved, half-turned into a donkey, swallowed by a whale, nearly drowned in a storm… let's just say I got enough nightmare fodder out of my first three months of life without needing to get into the whole 'turning back to wood' thing that happened some twenty-eight years later." He shrugged. "The dreams stopped after I went back to being the boy. I'd hoped they were gone for good, but I guess not."

Gold blinked. "Three… months." Despite his curiosity, he wasn't going to bring up the 'caged and enslaved' part; it hit uncomfortably close to home for him and if he dwelt on it overmuch, he doubted he'd get back to sleep tonight when this conversation ended.

August shrugged. "Father carved me to look like a boy of six or seven, I guess. I mean, it's hard to tell with puppets, so I'm going with the age I seemed to be after Blue brought me to life. But when she…" He cast about for the right word. "…animated me, I guess. Wooden me, I mean… well, father kept me close to the workshop at first. Then, one night—I was probably about a month old—the queen's guards burst in and dragged us both outside along with the rest of the village. The queen had come hunting Snow White and she wanted to know if anyone knew her whereabouts. We didn't. And we were fortunate in that she moved on without further incident; rumors had reached us of other villages in the area, wheree she'd had the inhabitants murdered en masse when nobody told her what she wanted to hear."

Rumple nodded, remembering those days. He hadn't kept track of the number of hamlets and villages she'd terrorized, but it had been a large one. The puppet must have been terrified.

"Father wanted me to be safe," August continued, his words coming more slowly now, as he thought back, "and he didn't know whether the queen would change her mind and return. So, the next day, he gave me some food and directions to the school in the next town, along with a letter of introduction for the schoolmaster."

Rumple nodded once more. Snow White had spent most of her fugitive days hiding either in the woods, or in rural areas which the queen's knights were unlikely to pass through without being ordered to do so. Towns were larger, more important economically, and generally safer. Certainly, Regina had never razed one to its foundations, nor slaughtered its inhabitants without provocation. Gepetto had been wise to think of sending his son off to one of them.

"The problem," August sighed, "was that I _was_ just a boy—and I hadn't been alive for very long. It was my first time leaving Father's shop—unless you count the previous night's rude awakening—and I took one look at the world outside and wanted to see it all." A rueful smile flashed on his face. "I was curious, naïve, looking for fun... Basically a recipe for disaster waiting to happen. And since one thing I was severely lacking was street smarts, it wasn't that long a wait. I met up with a puppeteer and started showing off what I could do. The guy was appreciative. He invited me to perform with his show. I loved the applause. He was thrilled with the money I was bringing in. So thrilled, in fact, that he didn't want me to leave."

"Ah," Gold nodded, his lips a thin line. "The cage."

"Yep." While his tone was flippant, Rumple noticed that the younger man had closed his eyes and ducked his head for a moment. Then he looked up once more and sighed. "Blue and Archie helped me out of that one. The puppeteer's wagon hadn't gotten very far along the road, so they brought me back to Father. He waited a couple more days before sending me off again. And that time, I ran into my own personal Artful Dodger." He sighed once more. "It's tempting to blame Lampwick for leading me down the wrong path, but if the truth must be told, I sure wasn't protesting much. Lampwick got me to the town, but convinced me to give school a miss and check out the rest of what the area had to offer. I ended _that_ day listening to Smee telling me tall tales about you."

Gold snorted at that. "I'm not sure I should feel flattered."

"Neither am I," August admitted with a tight smile. "Smee had this way of… er… embellishing his part in the story. I'm willing to bet he didn't defeat you in a duel with one hand tied behind his back?"

Gold's breath exploded into a startled laugh. "I beg your pardon?"

"That's what I thought," August nodded. "So…"

As the younger man continued speaking, it occurred to Rumple that the two of them appeared to have far more in common than he'd originally believed. They'd both made unwise choices in their pasts. They'd both paid heavy prices for them. They'd both tried to change for the better. And neither one of them had truly succeeded, though Rumple would allow that Booth seemed to have gone further down that path than he himself had.

Listening to Booth's story, it struck Rumple that the chasm that separated a hero from a villain might not be as wide as he'd always assumed.

"Oh, jeez," Booth's stricken tone broke in on Rumple's thoughts. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go on and on about my baggage; not when you told me you were dreaming, too." He leaned forward. "Turnabout's fair play if you want to share."

Rumple shook his head. He had no desire to discuss his terrors. Particularly not the one who'd held onto his dagger for the better part of a year. "I'm afraid the details of mine have faded," Rumple lied. "But I don't mind hearing more of yours."

He wasn't lying the second time.

* * *

After he'd finished his tale, Booth remembered that he'd spotted a few vending machines in an alcove halfway down the hall. The hot chocolate provided at one of them was overly sweet and likely came from a powdered mix, but Rumple didn't complain. He couldn't choke down more than a mouthful of the accompanying snack cake, though. He'd long suspected that Mrs. Lucas froze her desserts as well as her lasagna, but they still tasted far better than this concoction. He took another sip of the hot chocolate and winced. The liquid was still hot enough to scald.

He was unaccustomed to having people open up to him. Well. Of course, that wasn't precisely true. Supplicants and petitioners were perfectly capable of spinning their sob stories to the Dark One, often well-rehearsed, frequently embellished, usually in hopes of playing on his sympathies and getting him to set a less-onerous price for his magical aid. Such ploys seldom worked, but that never stopped people from trying.

But the experience of having someone open up to him in a situation where they could not possibly hope to gain, to have them willingly unburden themselves to him without concern that he might use their revelations against them, this was new. And not wholly unpleasant.

This camaraderie couldn't last, of course. These were heroes, after all. Their seeming friendliness was prompted by guilt, pity, and a need for them to be able to tell themselves that they were doing everything they could to ensure that his last days would be pleasant ones. He needed to fix that firmly in his mind. How many times had he misread love for opportunism? Mila had wanted a provider; Cora a teacher. Zoso had wanted a means to be free of a life grown burdensome. Rumple didn't dare allow himself to believe for one moment that these heroes' concern and compassion were genuine. Why, for all he knew, Booth had cooked up that sob story so that Rumple would let his guard down and share his own painful memories. Which Booth and the others would quickly use against him. All they wanted was to learn the monster's secrets.

He had to keep telling himself that.

He had to repeat it constantly.

…Until he actually came to believe it.

* * *

Belle had always been an early riser. Without the benefit of an alarm clock, she opened her eyes just as the sun was coming up in the morning sky. Emma was still sleeping, her blonde hair in tangled disarray over her pillow. Belle smiled and reached over to the night table for one of the books she'd brought with her— _Rebecca_ , by Daphne Du Maurier. She hadn't had a chance to read since she'd left Storybrooke and she opened the volume to the place she'd marked.

_'Frank,' I said desperately, 'I know what you are thinking. You can't understand why I asked all those questions just now. You think I'm morbid, and curious, in a rather beastly way. It's not that, I promise you. It's only that - that sometimes I feel myself at such a disadvantage. It's all very strange to me, living here at Manderley. Not the sort of life I've been brought up to. When I go returning these calls, as I did this afternoon, I know people are looking me up and down, wondering what sort of success I'm going to make of it. I can imagine them saying, "What on earth does Maxim see in her?" And then, Frank, I begin to wonder myself, and I begin to doubt, and I have a fearful haunting feeling that I should never have married Maxim, that we are not going to be happy. You see, I know that all the time, whenever I meet anyone new, they are all thinking—_

She slammed the book down on the bedspread with enough force that it probably would have awakened Emma, had she dropped it on something harder. She didn't want to be reading something like this right now, not after the last two days. She didn't want to read about someone else doubting their marriage, doubting her husband. She shook her head.

Then, thoughtfully, she reached for her smartphone, logged onto the hotel's wi-fi network, and entered a search into Google. She smiled. She'd never gotten around to obtaining a credit card, but _Wuthering Heights_ was available for free download via Project Guttenberg.

_I have just returned from a visit to my landlord — the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect misanthropist's heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still farther in his waistcoat, as I announced my name..._

When Emma awoke an hour later and greeted her with a sleepy 'Good morning,' Belle barely noticed.

* * *

She was just about to go knock on the door to the other room when her phone rang. She answered it with a smile. "Morning, Regina. What's up?"

There was a moment's hesitation on the other end. "I was wondering whether you'd made plans for today." Regina sounded uncharacteristically nervous. "Or tomorrow, I suppose. It's not time-sensitive, come to think of it."

"Are you okay?" Emma asked sharply.

Another pause. But when Regina spoke again, it was with her usual poise. "I was wondering whether you could do me a favor."

Emma heard the mayor out. Then it was her turn to hesitate. "I can check that, sure," she said. "But… I thought you wanted to make a clean break. Are you positive you want me to do this?"

"I knew you would ask me that," Regina replied. "That's why I waited more than two days to request it. I think I just need to know—not just believe—that they're happy together. If I can acknowledge that, then I can move on." She paused once more. "If the scroll allows someone to enter Storybrooke despite the boundary spell, then that means he can come back. I need to recognize, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn't want to."

"And if he would?"

"He won't," Regina said with a heavy sigh. "He takes his vows very seriously. But, as silly as it sounds, I need him to state it anyway."

Emma found that she was shaking her head in unconscious sympathy. "Okay," she said brightly. "Do you have his number? I'll call as soon as I get off with you and then I'll run it by the others at breakfast."

Regina sighed again, this time in relief. "Thank you, Emma."

* * *

When nobody responded to the knock on the door next to hers, Belle took the elevator down and smiled when she found August and Rumple in the lobby.

"Hey," August greeted her. "Where's Emma?"

"She'll be down in a bit," Belle replied. "Regina called just when we were on our way out."

"I'm here!" Emma called from behind them, as she emerged from the elevator. "Sorry. Uh… Robin's going to be joining us for dinner tonight."

Rumple's mouth suddenly went dry. "Indeed?" he managed.

"Yeah, Regina suggested we meet up and see what he's been up to."

"Just Robin?" Belle asked. "Or…?"

"That's what I'm waiting to find out," Emma said. She felt her phone vibrate, pulled it out of her pocket and checked the message. "Just Robin," she confirmed. "It's too late for Roland to be out and Marian can't find a sitter." She glanced at the others. "Same restaurant as usual? If having gone there twice in as many days counts as 'usual'?"

"Sure," August nodded.

"No problem," Belle agreed. She looked at Gold. "Rumple?"

He would have given anything to be elsewhere. Even if the witch wasn't going to be present, Rumple knew that being around Robin would have him thinking about her and everything she'd put him through. But he couldn't think of a reason to object beyond the true one. And if he told them _that_ , he could just imagine their fury at his not having done so earlier. He didn't know what he needed to do to convince them that he might return with them, but he was willing to bet that his having kept this from them until now would convince them to rule against him. So he forced a smile and said, "That sounds delightful," all the while being thankful that unlike Booth, _his_ curse didn't make it obvious when he was lying through his teeth.

* * *

"We did a lot of walking yesterday," August pointed out. "I was thinking maybe we could do a bus tour. Big Bus is hop-on and hop-off, so if we get tired of seeing the city out the window, we can always get off, look around, and then catch the next bus."

"And be back here in time for supper with Robin," Emma nodded. "Sounds like a plan." She looked at the other two. "Okay with you guys?"

"Yes, please," Belle said. Gold nodded his assent with considerably less enthusiasm.

"Rumple?" Belle laid her hand on his wrist. "If you'd rather not, I'm sure we can do something else instead."

"Yeah," Emma interjected. "There's a ton of other stuff going on. Just say the word."

It wasn't the prospect of the tour that filled him with dread. It was the dinner to follow. But he couldn't say that without explaining why. He shook his head. "No, no," he said quickly. "I'll trust your judgment on this."

Maybe he could feign exhaustion this evening and skip dinner. It wasn't as though he hadn't missed a number of meals over the last few weeks. And if the others elected to 'hop off' of the tour bus frequently, his exhaustion might not even be feigned.

* * *

"I can't believe how late it is!" Belle exclaimed as they disembarked from the bus some three blocks from the restaurant.

"Yeah, well, you spend enough time getting lost in Madame Tussaud's and…" August let his voice trail off with a shrug and a smile.

"I-I know, but there's no time to even stop off at the hotel to put our bags away!"

"Hey," Emma said, "don't sweat it. I don't think Robin's going to think any less of us for doing a little shopping."

"If it's all the same to you," Rumple said, "my ankle is being more bothersome than usual. Perhaps, I'll make my way back to the room while you visit with the outlaw."

Belle frowned. "But if your ankle is hurting, then wouldn't it be harder for you to—"

"How about," August suggested, "you sit down with us long enough to say 'Hi' to Robin and maybe have a couple of bread rolls to tide you over. If you still want to go back after that, I'll spot you enough for the subway and we'll pick you up something on the way back. Uh… unless you want to make do with stuff from the vending machines."

Rumple made a face, remembering the taste and texture of the snack cake. He'd need to be a good deal hungrier than he was before he'd consider having that—or similar fare—again. "Not my first choice, dearie," he said crisply. He considered. He _was_ hungry, after all. And he hadn't been lying about his ankle, merely exaggerating. Suddenly the prospect of sitting down for a few minutes and having a bite to eat seemed more attractive. With a smile a good deal more genuine than the one he'd pasted on at breakfast, he continued, "Very well. I'd say you've suggested a fair compromise. I accept."

August grinned back.

Before entering the restaurant, they took a moment to peer through its plate-glass front window.

"You see him?" August asked.

Emma was frowning. "I don't think s—Oh, wait. There, in the corner."

Rumple followed the angle of her head, and felt his appetite vanish as his heart plunged to his stomach.

"I thought you said Marian couldn't join us," Belle said in pleased surprise.

Emma shrugged. "Looks like she found a sitter, after all. Come on, let's not keep them waiting."

Rumple felt as though his knees had turned to water and his hands, to ice. Zelena. They were about to sit down to dinner with Zelena. And he couldn't see any way in which he could get out of it gracefully now.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

 

"Hey," August said, turning to Rumple in surprise. "Are you okay? I mean, if you're really not up for this…"

He almost took the lifeline Booth was tossing him. He had no interest in breaking bread with the witch and he knew she'd be enjoying every second of his discomfiture. But if he left now, he'd have no idea what she might tell the others. He knew full well that they didn't trust him fully, not now and probably not ever. But they weren't treating him as though he might up and turn on them at any moment either. They were _trying_ to give him a second chance, one he desperately needed right now. And he couldn't risk Zelena subtly getting them to rethink their tactics. She could be sweetly manipulative when she wanted to be and, while he doubted that the heroes would be taken in were she in her true guise, appearing as Marian would give her an advantage.

She glanced at the window then, saw the four of them and smiled.

That settled it. Maybe he might have slipped off, had she not seen them. But he wasn't about to scuttle away, knowing that she was laughing silently after him, knowing that she could still cow him, even without her magic. She'd enslaved him. She hadn't broken him.

Had she?

He took a breath, forced a smile, and straightened his posture. "I suppose I could endure a few minutes of idle prattle," he muttered, taking a step toward the entrance.

It was all right. He wasn't alone. They had his back. But would they continue to have it after this evening, if Zelena disclosed certain truths he wanted left hidden? He didn't know the answer to that question, but he did know that if she was going to spew her poison, he'd rather be there to hear it than back at the hotel worrying that she would. He squared his shoulders and pulled open the door.

* * *

Rumple had never cared much for contemporary horror movies, not now and not when he was cursed. He wasn't squeamish, merely fastidious. He didn't see the need for over-the-top blood and gore. If he wanted someone dead, it was more efficient to rip out and crush their hearts. If he wanted to make an example of them, the price of the magic to transform someone into a snail was actually quite reasonable, provided he didn't make a habit of such things.

No, his preference had generally run to suspense thrillers from the likes of Alfred Hitchcock, where the true terror wasn't in what the antagonist actually did on screen, but in what one pictured happening just around the corner, behind the shower curtain, or outside the bedroom window, just out of view.

It was a rather different experience to find oneself the lead actor in such a story, rather than an observer.

Robin and Marian/Zelena had welcomed the four of them smiling. Robin's reserve was offset by his… well, call her his wife for now; Rumple wasn't ready to shatter that fiction… his _wife's_ warm, "It's so good to see you all again!"

She beamed at Emma. "I suppose I should be upset at the way you dragged me back to this realm," she laughed, "except that you've reunited me with the husband and child I'd never thought to see again!" She shook her head, still smiling. "So, it seems I owe you my thanks, instead."

Emma smiled back, somewhat nervously. "Uh… you're welcome," she murmured, taking an involuntary step back when it looked as though the witch might actually hug her.

She turned to August next. "I don't believe we've met," she said, giving the puppet a look that Rumple could only describe as speculative.

Robin seemed to notice _that_ , at least, going by the way his own smile seemed to freeze on his face for a moment. Then he relaxed. "You seem to be in better condition now than at our last meeting," he remarked to Rumple.

"Time heals many things," Rumple returned vaguely.

Marian/Zelena laughed then, seemingly at some comment the puppet had made. The sound made Rumple tense. _It doesn't heal everything, though, dearie. Don't think for one moment that I don't recall what you did to me, nor what you did to my boy. There's only one way those scales can ever be balanced and I'll not forget it._

"Rumple?" Belle asked, "what's the matter?"

"Oh, is something wrong?" the witch asked, sounding sweetly solicitous. "Mr. Gold, I thought that elixir would have done the trick. Or were the effects not permanent?"

He felt a wave of white-hot rage flood him and welcomed it, letting it wash over his terror, adding steel to his spine and steadiness to his voice. He might be afraid, but there was no way that he'd give her the satisfaction of showing it. "Never you mind about me, dearie," he said, injecting a measure of jocularity into his tone. "I'm managing quite well."

"Oh, so I see," the witch returned. "A good thing, too. I mean, even if the effects _weren't_ permanent, the medicine still might have given you enough time to find something that might be." She flashed him an earnest smile. "That's right, isn't it?"

His jaw clenched as he nodded.

"Excellent."

The server appeared then, handed out the menus, took their drink orders and vanished.

Marian/Zelena scanned the food offerings quickly. "Oh," she said sounding disappointed. "No meat pie?"

Rumple curled his fingers until they were white-knuckled fists beneath the tablecloth. He might not be immortal in the outside world, but this meal was going to last an eternity, all the same.

* * *

Emma couldn't get over the change in Marian. The woman who'd occupied the cell next to her when she and Hook had gone through the time portal had been a completely different person: frightened, but serious and determined. She'd been facing the prospect of imminent death with a calm dignity and still able to reach out to a total stranger to try to provide some measure of comfort.

She was having a hard time reconciling that woman with the laughing, vivacious personality sharing the table with them now. It was as though, reunited with her husband and son, she'd become a completely different person.

"So," Robin said, turning to Rumple and shaking Emma out of her thoughts, "I never did thank you for sparing the life of a desperate thief all those years ago. I know I paid that debt, but it's not exactly the same thing."

Rumple nodded with a tight-lipped smile.

"I don't think I know that story," Emma remarked.

Marian's expression grew serious. "I was with child and my time was drawing near. Robin was worried and…" She broke off. "You know, I've never been much good at telling tales. Robin, would you?"

Emma sipped her wine and tried to keep her expression neutral. Robin hadn't reacted to his wife's statements, which meant that he hadn't noticed anything off about them.

_Then why did my superpower go off when Marian said she'd been pregnant? Not to mention when she said she'd never been good at storytelling? What's going on here?_

Marian's laughter rang warm and rich and Emma blinked, realizing that she'd missed the joke.

"You know, Mr. Gold," August exclaimed, laughing a bit himself, "I understand a flair for the dramatic, but you actually told Robin that _you_ were the price of the magic he was trying to steal?" He grinned. "Maybe you could pull it off, but it'd be over the top for me."

"Yes," Marian agreed. "It does sound like someone has an inflated sense of self-worth."

Emma was glad that she'd just swallowed what was in her mouth, because she was sure she would have choked on it otherwise. She recognized that turn of phrase and remembered instantly who had spoken it the last time she'd heard it—in almost exactly the same tone of voice.

She cast a sidelong glance at Gold, still unusually silent, still uncharacteristically tense.

At least now, she could understand why.

_Zelena._

Well, that cleared up why he hadn't been eager to eat with them tonight, though not why he hadn't been forthcoming with an explanation. He'd already told them that Zelena had threatened him in the hospital. She didn't get why he hadn't told them the rest. Emma considered.

 _She tried to get Hook to do her dirty work by threatening to murder my family if he didn't. Maybe she's blackmailing Gold the same way. We know she thinks she has a deal with him to get the author to write her a happy ending. Maybe there's more to that agreement that he can't safely tell us. Or maybe they're both playing us and they've really been working together all along._ She thought about everything they knew Zelena had done to Gold. She thought about Neal. No, there was no way that Gold would work with Zelena unless she had some hold over him.

 _And the scary thing is,_ Emma reflected, _at this point, he's probably got more reason to trust Zelena to do whatever it is she must have threatened him with than he does to trust us to look out for him, when push comes to shove._

Emma took a deep breath. "Gold," she said, "you know, riding the subway might not be safe at this hour. If you want, there's a bus that'll take you practically back to the hotel's front door. It doesn't come very often, but we can check online to find out when the next one's due. I just need to get the stop ID."

"Oh, going so soon?" Marian/Zelena cooed. "I wouldn't hear of it. Why the party's just beginning."

Rumple flinched.

"It's been a long day," Emma explained, smiling back in a friendly fashion. "Some of us are exhausted. I know Belle was thinking of an early night and it'd probably be best if someone went back with her."

Belle blinked in surprise and opened her mouth to protest. She must have caught something in Emma's expression, though, and she nodded back quickly instead.

"It shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes to check." She glanced casually at Rumple. "You want to get some air?"

Rumple's eyes widened slightly and he gave her a quick nod.

"Really, Emma," Marian giggled, "three men at the table and that's the one you pick for protection?"

Emma raised an eyebrow. "I don't need protection," she said, forcing herself to keep sounding pleasant. "Just a chance to stretch my legs. I thought Gold might, too."

She frowned and glanced at Rumple again. "Unless you wouldn't?"

Rumple was already half-standing, one hand braced on his cane. "I would, thank you," he replied softly.

Emma nodded. "I thought so. C'mon."

Belle shot him a questioning look and then shifted her gaze to Emma's retreating back. Rumple gave her a quick smile and murmured something about not being long. Then he turned and followed the savior out of the restaurant.

* * *

"Here," Emma motioned to a bench inside a nearby bus shelter. "Have a seat." She followed him inside and sat down herself.

Gold regarded her curiously for a moment before he took the space next to her. "So," he said, staring straight ahead of him. "I take it we aren't confirming the bus schedule."

"We can," Emma said, also facing the street. "I just… thought it was more important to get you away from her." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gold turn to look at her and met his eyes with a serious expression. "If we'd known, we wouldn't have put you through that."

Gold sighed and looked away once more. "Robin Hood was in my debt, until Bae collected on it. And now… I find myself in his. Enough for his life to matter to me, at any rate."

"Zelena threatened to kill him if you told anyone what was going on."

Gold smiled thinly. "It's rather fortunate that I haven't had to. You… seem to have grown more perceptive over the past year."

"Henry's thirteen," Emma remarked. "That's around the time kids are supposed to start figuring out who they are and thinking they need to shut out the adults around them and work it out for themselves. Or, at least, that's what all the pop psychology articles I have invented memories of reading in doctors' waiting rooms told me. And by the time _I_ was thirteen, I'd given up on trying to talk to the grownups in my life. I guess, for the last little while, I've been trying to work on reading between the lines."

"Has it helped?"

"With Henry?" Emma smiled. "It hasn't really come up. He's still pretty open with me, when I don't shut _him_ out."

"He's growing into a fine young man."

"Yeah, he is. But, between trying to listen to what people _aren't_ telling me and… remembering some of that stuff you told me on the deck of the _Jolly Roger_ about needing people to spell things out for me too much of the time… Let's just say that when my superpower tells me that something seems wrong… it usually is. And sometimes, crazy ideas aren't all that crazy." She took another breath.

"So. I guess I need some straight answers. If we keep playing along… is Robin in any danger?"

Gold looked at her sharply, then turned back to the street once more with a frown. "I'd say not. At least, not right now. Zelena's chief aim has been to take everything that she feels should be rightfully hers. Or rather, everything Regina has. I'm not certain she perceives a difference at this point. At the moment, she may have Robin, but there's no point in her causing him harm unless Regina were to know about it."

"How about Roland?"

Gold's frown deepened. "That's a more difficult question. Zelena has a use for Robin. She has none for the child. She may not have any designs on him, but… even the most well-behaved children can have their fretful moments. Should Zelena become angry with him, and should she find a way to… deal with him—one where Robin would not find out what she'd done... I can't answer that."

"And if we don't go back in there, then Zelena will figure out that I know."

"Likely."

Emma shook her head. "Roland's barely five years old. The idea of leaving him in her care…"

Rumple nodded. "It's been seven weeks. Thus far, it would seem that all is well."

"For now." She sighed. "Okay. Regina wanted me to set this up so I could tell her how Robin's doing. I think it's time to check in."

"But…"

"Well, I'm not going to tell Zelena about it," Emma snapped. "But we can't just grab Robin and Roland and drag them back to Storybrooke without an explanation. Once they have that explanation… there is no way that five adults and a preschooler can fit in my bug, even if we did cut this investigation short and all head back tonight. So. Either Regina drives down here so we get a second car, or we rent one and worry about how to return it later, or she wires August enough money for a motorcycle that can take two."

She stopped. Gold was staring at her, with a stunned expression. "Sorry. I'm… kinda used to operating alone out here. If you have any other suggestions, fire away."

He blinked and shook his head. Emma reached out impulsively and patted his arm. "Okay. Let me know if you come up with anything. I'll just send Regina a text and then… well, we knew going in that you were planning on leaving early. I can see you onto the bus and then go back and make your apologies."

"Tempting," Rumple nodded, "but you're forgetting that before we left the restaurant, you intimated that it was _Belle_ who wished to head back sooner. Should you return alone, you're likely to ignite Zelena's suspicions." His jaw set. "I'm afraid I must return with you."

"You sure you're up for it?"

He gave her an uneasy smile. "She needs me alive. For now."

"That's not what I asked."

Rumple sighed. "I suppose I've no choice but to attempt to rise to the occasion."

"That's just it," Emma said seriously. "You do."

* * *

She wasn't planning to leave him behind. He replayed the conversation over and over again in his head, trying to find some loophole. 'Cutting the investigation short' might indeed mean returning without him, but he couldn't reconcile that interpretation with Emma's ruminations on the need for a second car.

 _Or a motorcycle that could seat two_.

That was the clincher. She had no intention of abandoning him. She was ready to let him return now, tonight even, if they needed to get the thief and his son away from the witch.

He could have kicked himself for not exaggerating the danger those two were in. On second thought, he didn't know what the savior's talent would have made of such embellishments. Better he hadn't. She was alarmed enough.

Regina might yet talk her into bringing Robin and the boy back now and coming back for him later. The queen was quite good at raising unsettling doubts and she had every reason to want her lover back and, Rumple reflected, every reason to want Emma to leave him where he was. After all, he'd manipulated her, turned her to darkness, entered into alliances against her—all necessary, of course. All justifiable, though he doubted she viewed matters in that light. No, Regina wouldn't want him back without some extremely hefty concessions and, while he'd probably have to make them, he couldn't deny that there was something terrifyingly… wonderful about these last days. Generally people tried to stay in his good graces either due to fear or an agenda. He wasn't accustomed to having people reach out to him without expecting some sort of favor in return. Which, he supposed, placed him in their debt—ironically enough.

He doubted it would last. Villains didn't get happy endings, after all. Unless he could find the Author and get him to change the rules. And to do that… well, he knew what he had to do.

…To one of the few people who truly seemed to be on his side.

A betrayal of _that_ magnitude, Rumple considered, just might do it. If she knew what he was planning, it just might send her hurtling toward darkness.

But if he were to instigate such a fall, then his debt to her would only grow.

A few steps from the restaurant his ankle buckled and he stumbled. Emma caught hold of his arm and kept him upright. "You okay?" she asked.

He smiled, nodded, and tried not to log another entry in his own debit column. Unsuccessfully. No matter how he looked at it, he was trapped in his own manipulations. His usual methods weren't what was called for. And he had no idea what might be.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter 20**

Rumple found the rest of the meal easier to get through. He wasn't entirely certain whether it was because Emma understood the situation, or whether it was because—as she had pointed out—he did have a choice about whether to remain. He _could_ walk away at any moment, pleading exhaustion or some better excuse, or even no excuse at all.

Oh, he couldn't call it a pleasant evening. Zelena kept up her jibes, making them sound enough like gentle ribbing that they passed mostly unnoticed by the other three. Not entirely unnoticed; there were a few moments when Belle looked uneasy and August seemed about to protest. Even Robin occasionally appeared somewhat discomfited. As the meal progressed, though, he found himself glancing unconsciously at Emma. And each time their eyes met, he could hear her unspoken support.

_Any time you want to call this quits, say the word and it's over. You don't have to put up with this any longer than you want to._

At first, he'd been concerned that she meant to step in to defend him, whether he wanted her to or not. He knew how Zelena would view that.

_Really, Rumple, when are you going to stop relying on other people to fight your battles?_

He couldn't fight Zelena. Not here. Not when she might be carrying other charms and enchantments besides that glamor spell. He'd underestimated her in the past. He wouldn't do so again. And the witch—damn her eyes—knew it.

But knowing that Emma understood the situation, knowing that she was prepared to take his part if he needed her to, but willing to stand by and let him handle things as he saw fit, helped to steady him. He could endure this. And he would. There was no way that the witch would have the satisfaction of seeing him slink off liked a whipped dog with his tail between his legs.

He sought Emma's eyes once more and gave her a faint nod and a close-lipped smile in response to her questioning glance. She smiled back in reply.

He could do this. Maybe he didn't have to, but he would.

* * *

"Zelena," Belle gasped when they got back to the room. "Emma, are you sure?"

Emma nodded.

"And Rumple…?"

Emma sighed. "I don't know if he's telling August right now, but I'm thinking he probably would be."

"No. I mean…"

Emma hesitated. "Zelena's blackmailing him to stay quiet about it."

"But he told you."

"No. I told him and he didn't deny it. Well. Okay, there was one thing I think I guessed wrong on. I don't think Zelena threatened Robin's life." She sighed, remembering the point in the evening that she'd realized that Gold hadn't actually confirmed her suspicion, just not denied it. And while she wanted to believe he wasn't letting her deceive herself… "It doesn't fit. Gold said that Robin is relatively safe until Regina finds out the truth. And that makes sense. I mean, what's the point of stealing your half-sister's True Love out from under her—uh, sorry," she winced. "Bad mental image. Stealing him _away_ from her, if she never finds out about it? I mean, yeah, she has to know that Regina's hurting because he's gone. But that extra twist of letting her find out that he's with Zelena? She wouldn't want to keep that hidden."

Belle nodded slowly. "But then why would Rumple…" She frowned. "He didn't actually lie, then. But he wanted you to believe that Robin was in danger. Why?"

Emma sighed. She'd been trying to figure that out, as well. It could have just been force of habit; Gold kept his cards close and he was usually more than happy to let people believe what they wanted to if it benefited him. But Emma had spent enough of her own life feeling unwanted and unloved to come up with another theory. "I guess," she said slowly, "we'd have to ask him to be sure. Otherwise, we're—I'm… just jumping to another conclusion, like I did about Robin. But I think I have some idea. I mean, try to put yourself in Gold's shoes for a second. You're sick. You want to get home. The people who're going to decide whether you can seem to want something from you, but won't tell you what. So, you're trying to figure it out. And you know that at least part of the reason you were exiled in the first place was because you'd been…"

"…Deceptive," Belle finished. "That's the root of it. He's lied, he's tricked, he's let people think that he means one thing when he means another… The betrayals…" She made a choking sound. "I'm sorry. I think I'd put all that out of my head, or tried to."

Emma nodded her understanding. "I know. But the thing is, so does Gold. I mean, I don't know how open he's been with you, but with the rest of us, he usually tells us exactly as much as he thinks he needs to and absolutely nothing else. But these last few days, am I wrong or has he been opening up to us more?"

Belle's eyes widened. "He _has_ been," she said, a faint smile coming to her lips. "N-not about everything. But about the dagger and the hat and…"

"And we didn't storm off and leave him behi…" Emma's voice trailed off.

"What?"

Emma hesitated for a moment. "I'm an idiot."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Emma took a breath. "I thought… it was just that he was doing what he usually does and keeping things to himself, because that's… normal for him. And, I guess, I jumped to that conclusion, because it's hard for me to open up, too." She gave Belle a sad smile. "Too many times letting my guard down and getting sucker-punched for it, I guess." She let out a long breath. "I learned a lot of the same… defenses Gold uses. Like not telling people too much about what you're thinking. With me, if I opened up too much, I usually found out I'd told the class bullies exactly what to do to hurt me. Or, they'd pretend to be nice to me for a couple of weeks until I let my guard down and then they'd turn around and just laugh at me for thinking that they'd ever want to be my friends. Which also hurt." She lowered her voice and smiled a bit sadly. "The problem is, if you keep things to yourself, then the longer you hold back—especially about things that didn't seem important at the time but do later—the worse it looks when the whole truth does come out. That's all I thought it was. Gold didn't tell us Zelena was Marian from the beginning and he thought that telling us now would just get us angry and thinking he was reverting to his old tricks."

Belle nodded. "I can see that. But you don't believe that anymore?"

"I think that's part of it," Emma said. "But when we talked outside, I…" She took a breath. "I think Gold figured that if it was a choice between helping him and helping Robin, we'd pick Robin, hands down."

"But why would it be a choice? Can't we help them both?"

Emma let out a noisy breath. "Because you can't fit five adults and a five-year-old into my car unless someone who isn't Roland rides in the trunk."

Belle's eyes widened. "And after what he told us last night about how everyone… left him behind after the battle with Zelena…"

"It wasn't the first time," Emma said heavily. "The night Hook shot you, I stopped Gold from killing Hook. Don't misunderstand what I'm saying. It's not like I regret that, but for Gold, it probably felt like everyone was more worried about the guy who injured you getting hit by a car than about you _or_ him. Gold, I mean." She waited for Belle to nod. "And then, at the hospital, you were freaking out and he was trying to help and—"

"And the doctors pushed him away, because I didn't remember anything and he was scaring me. I remember that," Belle said slowly. "Sort of."

"So," Emma continued, "from Gold's point of view, it looked like everyone's first concern was Mendell. Next, you. But again, we all kind of… forgot about him. Except that Whale wanted him to take a minute to heal Mendell."

"Right when he was feeling angry and frightened and helpless," Belle closed her eyes.

Emma wasn't finished. "When Neal was shot and fell through a portal and we thought he was dead, my parents broke it to Gold as gently as they could. But… the town was on the verge of destruction and, while I can't blame them for trying to put the general good first and ask for his help…"

"It must have sounded to him like they thought his pain… didn't matter," Belle murmured.

"So," Emma said heavily, "now he's dying. Without his magic. Without any power or… or… respect. Yeah, he's got us, but we're not exactly racing back home with him. He needs help, or… or support, again. And someone else is also in trouble, _again_. And every other time, if it's a choice between helping him, or helping… you, Hook, the town, the random stranger who just came barreling over the town line… we always, _always_ put the other party first and forget about him. So, with that track record, why the hell would he tell us that Robin's with Zelena if he's got every reason to think that as soon he does, we'll be out the door on our way to pick them up and promising to come back for him when—or _if_ —we can? Hell, I'd keep my mouth shut, if it were me."

Belle nodded, white-lipped. For several long moments, nobody spoke. Then, Belle took a breath. "So, what are we going to do?"

Emma gave Belle a tired smile. "Call Regina, find out how she wants to play this, and… deal, I guess. And Belle? Try not to blame Gold too much for this one. Being afraid that telling the truth is going to get you left behind, because it always has before? That isn't on the same level as lying and attempting murder to consolidate power. Not by a long shot."

Belle nodded. "I know. It's just… I tell myself that and then I start thinking about the other times he's deceived me and then I start wondering if he just… made a mistake, or if it's one of the warning signs I saw before and told myself I was imagining."

"Give him the benefit of the doubt for now," Emma said. "See where it goes. And if you think you see more… warning signs, say something. Just because I want to be right doesn't mean I always am."

Belle nodded again and Emma pulled out her phone.

* * *

Ten minutes later, she set the phone down with an annoyed expression, turned on the TV, and tried to lose herself in a 1950s sit-com that was probably far more of a fantasy land than the one she'd been born in. It didn't work. Not even when she put the volume up so she could focus better, despite the sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

 _Careful_ , she reminded herself. _Don't forget what August told you. Stop beating yourself up about not having done better in the past. You can't fix any of that. You can just try to do better in the future._

Yeah, but it was hard when everyone else was still acting the way they always had.

 _"You wouldn't really be abandoning him,"_ Regina had pointed out. _"After all, if Rumple's going to change, it's not as though you won't notice when you return in a day or two."_

Gold wasn't the only one who needed to change, though. True, Emma had made no promises, but she knew damned well that she'd led Gold to believe that she wasn't going to leave without him. Choosing to do so now, using the excuse that she'd never said she wouldn't… That would be a betrayal she didn't want on her conscience. In the end, she'd gotten what she wanted, even though she suspected that if time proved her wrong, the I-told-you-so's would come thick and fast.

"Life was so much easier when I didn't have people I was close to and I didn't care what anyone thought about me," she groaned, as the bathroom door opened and Belle came out in a robe, her hair wrapped in a towel.

"Pardon?" Belle asked.

Emma sighed. "Just because we're understanding Gold a little better doesn't mean anyone else is," she said.

"They aren't here," Belle smiled sadly.

"Not yet," Emma said. "But Regina will be, the day after tomorrow." She regarded Belle seriously. "She'll collect Robin and Roland. August and I will go with her as backup. We'll set up a time to meet to go to the apartment. I think you and Gold might want to find something else to do then. We'll figure something out."

"And how will they get back to Storybrooke?"

Emma sighed. "Regina takes the scroll and, whenever we're ready to come back, I call her and let her know when to meet us at the town line."

Belle frowned. "So she gets to have the final say as to whether Rumple comes back."

"Not to mention the rest of us," Emma nodded. "I'm not too worried. It's not like before, when she was trying to keep me away from Henry. And," she smiled, "if it comes down to it, my mother used to be a bandit. Something tells me that if she has to steal that scroll away from Regina and throw it over the town line for us, it's not going to be a problem…"

* * *

As soon as they'd gotten back to their rooms, Emma had texted August the details of her earlier conversation with Gold, so she wasn't overly surprised when he texted her back suggesting that they meet at the deli down the block.

Belle was another story. "You're going out? Now?"

Emma nodded. "August and I have a few things we need to talk over about the whole Zelena-Robin situation."

"And you're keeping it from Rumple and me?"

Emma sighed. "Not really. We'll fill you in at breakfast. It's just that with Regina on her way, we need to figure out what we're doing. And since the two of you won't be involved, I think it's best if August and I do the brainstorming now." She gave Belle a weary smile. "But, since it's after midnight now and we've all had a long day, once we think we've got a plan, we'll give you both the chance to start poking holes in it in the morning."

"And that's all?" Belle asked.

For once, Emma was glad that Belle wasn't the one with the superpower. "That's all."

* * *

"I don't like it," August said, frowning. "I mean, I agree with you about why he kept it from us, but on top of everything else…"

"I know," Emma said, "but I think we need to be realistic about how much we can expect from him in a few days."

"Just be careful," August replied. "I know you've been feeling guilty about what happened to Gold after the fight—"

"What we did to him, you mean," Emma interrupted. "Our walking away wasn't something that just randomly _happened_. We messed up big time and now, months later, I'm the only one there who even knows it—and even I wouldn't have recognized it if Gold hadn't finally said something."

"And it's great that he did," August said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "But Emma, I'm serious. You can't keep dwelling on it. You know it, you apologized for it, he forgave you—"

"Did he?" Emma asked. "I'm not so sure."

"Emma," August said, "wallowing is dangerous. Especially now."

"Yeah," Emma snapped. "I know. But reviewing how I messed up before so I don't do it again? That's not wallowing." She took a deep breath and lifted her cup of herbal tea. "I'm sorry. We agreed you'd tell me if you noticed any signs that I was...getting drawn in and I shouldn't be angry if you're noticing them. But I'm not going to back off now and become one more person who walks out on him right when he needs them most."

"Okay," August said. "I hear that. But just remember some basic first aid: if someone is drowning, it's a bad idea to swim out after them—"

"Because they might drag you down with them, I know," Emma finished. "But sometimes, you have to risk it anyway. So," she thought for a moment and smiled. "So, I guess I'm tying a rope around my waist and jumping in, trusting you to yank me back if things get rough."

"Which is why we're both here."

"Yeah, but you're yanking me back, just as I'm about to make contact. You've got to give me a chance." Her expression was serious. "And him, too."

August nodded slowly. "Okay. What did Regina decide?"

Emma relaxed. "She and my dad are driving down here," she looked at her watch and saw that it was past midnight, "tomorrow. If things go without a hitch, they'll be arriving sometime after lunch. I suggested Fort Tryon Park for a rendezvous; we could meet in front of the Cloisters around two."

"What time are they leaving?" August asked.

Emma frowned. "I'm not sure. My dad's an early riser; he'll probably want to get underway by six. But somehow, I think Regina might need a little more time. Seven-thirty? Maybe eight?"

"Well," August said, "I guess telling them to meet us at two is a good idea. I mean, otherwise, they might leave even later. But knowing how bad the traffic on the GW bridge can be, I'd say they probably won't get there much before two-thirty or maybe even three."

"Yeah, I'll warn them," Emma nodded. "So, what are Belle and Gold going to do while we're dealing with Zelena?"

August flashed her a broad smile. "I think I have a suggestion. Could you check something on your phone for me? I need to know show times for a repertory cinema in Greenwich Village…"

"A movie?" Emma's eyebrows shot up. "A million things to do in New York and you're suggesting they go to the movies?"

"Are you trying to tell me they've ever been to one?"

"Seriousl—" Emma broke off in mid-word, remembering that Storybrooke had no movie theater. Cable TV, access to streaming services, and even a couple of video stores, but August was right. There wasn't an AMC or a Landmark anywhere within the town limits. "I guess it's hard to get new movies into town when you're not on a map and there's a protection spell hiding the way in," she muttered. Now she was wondering about the video stores and whether their selection had ever been updated since 1983. She smiled. "Seriously, that's not a bad idea. Any idea what kind of film they'd both enjoy?"

August's smile deepened. "Actually, I think I might know just the thing…"


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Information about the Dizzy Dragon ride is copy-pasted from the Palace Playland amusement park's website. As stated, the park is located in Old Orchard Beach, Maine. The National Crime Information Center (NCIC) is "an electronic clearinghouse of crime data that can be tapped into by virtually every criminal justice agency nationwide, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. It helps criminal justice professionals apprehend fugitives, locate missing persons, recover stolen property, and identify terrorists. It also assists law enforcement officers in performing their duties more safely and provides information necessary to protect the public." (Source: FBI website) And while it actually contains multiple databases, Regina probably wouldn't be so clear on those specifics.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 

"A movie?" Belle repeated.

August shrugged. "We've spent the last couple of days traipsing around on foot. I thought maybe you'd like the chance to spend a couple of hours sitting down for a change."

Gold's eyes narrowed. "Which film?"

"Well," August said, "actually, it's going to be three of them. There's a Leslie Caron retrospective going on now. Tomorrow, as it happens, they'll be showing _An American in Paris_ , _Lili_ , and _Gigi_." He noted Gold's faint smirk and met it with a grin. "Hey, I didn't name them. But I've seen them."

"Romances, I take it?" Gold asked in a mockingly merry voice that reminded Belle of the imp he'd been when first she'd met him.

"Well, they're billed as musicals," August returned, "but, yeah… there's romance. And while the first item on the bill _is_ pretty much feel-good fluff—which happened to win Best Picture for 1951, by the way— _Lili'_ s a personal favorite of mine. For reasons that should be obvious to you when you see it." He hesitated. "Unless you'd rather not?"

Gold hesitated. Then he glanced to his left. "Belle?"

Belle flashed him a smile. "I wouldn't mind. Un-unless there's something else you'd rather do?" She sighed. "I have to admit I _am_ a bit curious." She looked away in embarrassment. "I feel like I did when I finally got out of the asylum and I was the only person in town who'd never tasted iced tea," she ticked off her fingers, never had a _hamburger_ , or-or ketchup, didn't even know what the 'top 40' was, forget being able to name a single song in it…" She smiled at Rumple again, a bit self-consciously. "Maybe I could be one of the only people in town who _has_ seen a movie in a theater." She hesitated again. "With popcorn?"

"Hey, what's a movie without popcorn?" August laughed.

Gold regarded them for a moment, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts. Then he smiled. "You do paint an appealing picture," he conceded. "Very well."

And he'd try not to roll his eyes too broadly at the absurdly happy endings that were certain to be forthcoming.

"So," Belle said, "As fun as the tour bus was, yesterday, I think I'd like to do something a little quieter. More off the beaten track." She glanced at Gold. "Not so… overwhelming."

Emma nodded. "Got somewhere in mind?"

"Well, I was looking up a few places on my phone last night," Belle admitted. "I've read about J.P. Morgan. The financier," she added. "I picked up a book about a financial crisis over a century ago, something called the 'Panic of 1907' and the picture they painted of Morgan intrigued me enough to want to learn more. I already knew that he'd resided here, but I hadn't realized that after his death, his home was eventually converted to a museum. And his library…" she warmed to her topic. "Well, just look at these images."

Rumple smiled. Although he didn't have quite the same love for reading as his wife, he did have an appreciation for old books and art. "I can see why you're so excited," he smiled. He looked to the others. "It's doable?"

"Not only is it doable," Emma grinned, eyeing the address. "It's practically around the corner. Well… about four blocks from here, anyway."

* * *

"Are you sure it'll work?" David asked dubiously. "I mean, don't misunderstand, but I never thought about whether magic could interact with this world's technology like this."

"Aye, mate," Hook said slowly, "but I can name one other instance where it did. When the Dark One coerced me into helping him, he used his magic to erase his own image from a security recording, so that it looked as though a certain vile act was perpetrated solely by myself."

He turned to Regina. "So, I suppose we know it's possible."

"Yes," Regina said, wondering once more why the shepherd had let him tag along. "But there's an added wrinkle. That recording was one cassette and it wasn't connected with anything outside this town. Inserting a false record into a national database might be trickier. I don't know what's going to happen to that record once it's online."

"Henry was able to track down Emma over the internet," David reminded her.

"I'm well aware. But all that proved was that electronic data can get past a curse or spell shielding the town from outsiders. Magical _hacking_ , on the other hand? Well, I think it's safe to say it's never been done before."

"How necessary is it?" David asked. "I mean, does there really need to be an outstanding warrant on Zelena?"

"There does if there's a chance that she might try to keep Robin in New York by using Roland." Her expression was deadly serious. "All she has to do is… keep up her cover and claim that she and Robin have been going through some difficulties and she suspects that he's about to kidnap their son and take him out of state. We know she's had spies on many of us in the past. If she can get a court order in effect before we get back home, and if she gives the license plate number to the authorities… We're going to have a lot of explaining to do if we get pulled over."

"We could take another car," David suggested.

"It won't help if she or her minions can see the new plate. No, Emma was right. We need an outstanding warrant on Zelena as leverage, so that if she tries anything, _she'll_ be the one taken into custody." She opened the file that Emma had sent her the day before with the proper templates. "All right," she said, getting down to business. "Name. Marian…" she paused. "...Hood," she typed with a slightly embarrassed smile. "Now, for alias…" she thought for a moment. "Alias Zelena _West_." She set about filling out the particulars as best she could. "Extortion… attempted murder… kidnapping…"

"Don't overdo it, your majesty," Hook suggested. "If she'd done half that list anywhere else in this realm, I believe that her name would be known far and wide. If all you need from this document is leverage… why not leave it at attempted murder and bail jumping?"

The pirate had a point. Maybe he could be useful after all. Marginally. Regina's gaze panned from Hook to David.

"I like it," David nodded. "Serious enough to warrant crossing state lines to bring her in, but not so high-profile that it would have made national headlines." He glanced at Hook. "Thanks."

"No worries, mate," Hook smiled. "I only wish I were going with you. Tell your daughter I'm… thinking of her."

David's jaw set. "Pure thoughts, I hope," he said, one hand straying to the butt of the revolver at his side almost on reflex.

"Of course," Hook replied. Then, in a voice almost too soft for David to hear, he added, "Well, some of them, at any rate."

"All right," Regina said, before David could reply. "The warrant's done. Now, let's hope I can get it into the NCIC database." She frowned and focused her power on the computer monitor before her. White light—and David still wasn't entirely used to seeing _that_ in place of purple smoke—flashed from her fingertips. For a moment the screen went dark. Then it lit up once more.

"Did it work?" Regina asked. Seeing the others looking at her expectantly, she caught herself, realized that she was the person in the room best suited to answer her own question, opened a new tab on her browser, and copied the url that Emma had sent her to verify. "It appears to be in order," she remarked. "But I'll text Emma and ask her to check things out on her end, too."

* * *

"It's there," Emma said with a smile. "Thanks, Regina." She'd moved away from the others as soon as she'd gotten the text notification.

"And it will stand up to scrutiny?"

"It should," Emma replied. "It looks fine to me."

There was an audible sigh of relief on the other end of the phone. "We'll see you tomorrow afternoon, then."

"We'll be there." She was just pocketing her phone when August walked up.

"We're about ready to move on," he said. "What's up?"

Emma shrugged. "Just touching base with Regina."

"Everything okay?"

She smiled. "Yeah, uh… fine."

August frowned. "You're sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure."

His frown deepened, but all he said was, "Okay. Then let's get back to the others."

As Emma fell into step behind him, she was wearing a frown of her own. Creating a phony criminal record was, of course, illegal. But impersonating some guy's dead wife so you could ruin your half-sister's chance at happiness had to be against the law, too. Fraud or identity theft or… or something. Not something that could be made to stick in a modern court, though; not when the impersonation was being helped along with a glamor spell. Maybe it would have been different back in 1692—in Salem. Somehow, Emma doubted that Zelena would be obliging enough to open another time portal and step through it to a time when most people believed in magic—and believed in executing its practitioners. Come to think of it, Emma wasn't entirely certain she'd want to risk visiting it herself.

Creating a false warrant and hacking a state database to add it to the registry might not be legal, but this was a clear case of the ends justifying the means. Roland was a total innocent in all of this and there was no reason to think that Zelena would see him as more than either a nuisance—to be tolerated or disposed of at whim, or leverage—to keep Robin away from Regina. In order to protect a small child, they needed some leverage of their own. What Emma had suggested to Regina might not be ethical, but it was necessary.

She seemed to hear Henry's voice again, repeating something he'd told her long ago.

_Good has to play fair. Evil doesn't._

But how could endangering a five-year-old be good? No, Emma was just ensuring that they were doing what had to be done. And if she didn't want to share her actions with August, it was only because she didn't need another lecture about not letting Gold rub off on her and because she generally liked to keep things to herself.

Roland had to be protected.

The ends justified the means.

She wasn't doing anything wrong.

Was she?

* * *

"If I rolled down the window, you'd probably stick your head out," Regina commented acidly.

David pulled his eyes away from the window beside him and flashed an embarrassed smile in her direction. "I've never been outside Storybrooke before," he pointed out.

"And I left it once, twelve years ago, to adopt Henry." _Twice_ , she remembered, but she wasn't about to tell David that the second time, she'd nearly given him back. "But you don't see me gawking at third-rate amusement parks like some uneducated country bumpkin."

David shrugged and checked the side mirror as Old Orchard Beach receded into the distance. "I wonder whether between them, Marco and the dwarfs couldn't build something like that. Maybe we could stop on the way back and take some pictures."

"We aren't doing any sightseeing," Regina snapped. A note of affection crept into her voice. "Besides, I don't think we'd be able to get Roland to leave, once he sees those pastel dragons."

David smiled and punched something into his phone. "The Dizzy Dragon ride," he read aloud. "Dizzy Dragon includes four large dragons rotating in a large circle and the passengers control the spin of each individual dragon. Younger children may choose to spin slowly while others may want to—"

"We are not stopping on the way back." She sighed. "Anyway, the tourist season's over. The park wouldn't be open now."

David typed something else and frowned. "Well, how about that? We're a month too late."

"Still," Regina mused, "I suppose we could devote more time to lifting the curse on the town line on our return. Then coming back this way next summer might be more feasible."

David raised his eyebrows.

"And since Henry's been dying to get behind the wheel again ever since you coached him into destroying one of the mailboxes on Main Street, I'm sure he'll enjoy the bumper cars."

"Uh… Dodg'em," David corrected with a smile. "According to the webpage, they call their bumper cars, the Dodg'em."

"Fine," Regina said with mild exasperation. "Dodg'em"

But though she was staring straight ahead at the road, David could see the corner of her mouth turn up in a slight smile. He grinned and turned back to the window.

* * *

The movie theater was tucked away on a side street. While the building was several decades old, its façade was bright and clean. "We should actually come back here at some point," August said. "There's a lot of history in the Village and a lot of it's been pretty well preserved."

"Some of the novels I've read mention it as being a place where many future artists and musicians began," Belle nodded.

"It was," August nodded back. "That's died down a bit, since gentrification drove the housing prices out of the range of most struggling performers," he admitted. "But there's still stuff if you know where to go. Like here, for example." He gestured to the theater with a casual smile.

"Okay," Emma said, pulling the ticket receipt out of her purse and holding it out. "The first show starts at noon. It's only a quarter to eleven, so you've got time to walk around and get coffee or an early lunch or whatever."

"Probably coffee at this hour," August remarked. "Most of the restaurants won't open before the movies start."

"We did just have breakfast," Rumple said dryly. Then he looked away. "Forgive me," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful." He just hated being out on the town with the woman he loved and without even two coins to rub together.

August didn't seem to take offense. "No worries," he smiled. "Okay. We're supposed to rendezvous with Regina and David at two," he reminded them, "but once we do, we're going to have to fight traffic to get to Robin's place. Which is why you've got tickets to three shows; as much as I'd like to say we'll be back here around the time that _Lili_ ends, depending on when the others actually get in, how long it takes to get to Robin, and how smoothly things go when we do…"

"You may not arrive until some time after the third film has begun," Rumple finished.

"Right," Emma nodded. "We should be back before it ends. But if we aren't, don't worry. We might be late, but we _will_ be back for you." A random thought came into her head and she smiled. "This isn't some modern version of _Hansel and Gretel_ where we take you into a strange part of the city and abandon you."

"But," August said, as Belle giggled and Gold snorted, "if you do want to get back to the hotel ahead of us," he held out two subway tokens in the palm of his hand, "closest station is on West Houston at Varick. And," he added, "while it's spelled the same as a well-known city in Texas, here in New York, it's pronounced like I just said: ' _House_ -ton,' not ' _Hews-_ ton'."

"Got it," Belle said, taking the tokens as Rumple reached for the tickets.

"Uh, Mr. Gold? A word?" August motioned to him to follow him around the corner. When Rumple did, August pulled out his wallet. "It's a loan," he said quickly, pretending he hadn't seen Rumple's face flush. "You can pay it back whenever you're able. No pressure." He took three twenties out. "I'd check prices here first, though," he added. "Some of these places charge like they're selling you the whole restaurant along with your lunch."

"Because anyone who can afford to pay the rents in this neighborhood is less likely to balk at the cost of dining."

"That's the theory. It doesn't take into account the people who are only able to pay the rents because they aren't spending much on anything else, of course. Don't worry, though. There are plenty of places where the food's decent and the cost's more in keeping with what you'd expect. Just… check prices beforehand. And don't go with the décor," he added. "Some places like to _look_ plain and simple, but charge through the nose for it."

Rumple nodded and took the money. "Thank you, Booth," he said seriously.

August shrugged. "I know you're good for it."

A fleeting smile flashed across his face as he pocketed the money. Then the two went back to rejoin the women.

* * *

"We were wondering what was keeping you," Emma greeted them. She glanced at August. "Are we ready to get going? If not, I need to feed the meter."

"I think we're set," August said. He turned to the others. "You're okay here?"

Both nodded. "If we run into any trouble," Belle said, "I can call you, but I think we'll be fine."

"Okay. We'll call or text if we're going to be later than we think. Or you can call us if you want to walk around a bit and meet us somewhere else."

"Got it," Belle said.

"Be careful," Rumple said. "We know Zelena is using a glamor spell. We don't know what other magic she may have carried with her."

"Understood," Emma nodded. "Have fun."

Gold slid one hand into his pocket to check that the three folded twenties were still there. He smiled. "We shall endeavor to do so."

* * *

August's expression was troubled as Emma's bug inched along through the Manhattan midday traffic. "I hope this all goes down without a hitch," he said. "But if Zelena puts up a fight, or-or calls the police to say Roland's been kidnapped or something… I mean, you and I have records out here. But if anyone tries checking out Regina's ID or your dad's, and nothing turns up… things could get a little intense."

"Already one step ahead of you," Emma said matter-of-factly. "If Zelena tries anything, she's the one getting hauled in."

August frowned. "How did you swing that?"

"Pre-emptive first strike," Emma replied, wondering why she was suddenly feeling that earlier twinge of uneasiness.

August wasn't letting it slide. "Meaning what, exactly?"

Emma sighed. "I know what a criminal record looks like in the NCIC and I coached Regina on how to insert one for Zelena."

"For what?" August demanded. "Practicing witchcraft without a license?"

Emma shrugged. "Beats me. I left that up to Regina. The important thing is, if Zelena calls the cops, they'll run a check on her, too. That's standard. And once they do…"

"So, you framed her."

Emma's hands tightened around the steering wheel. "After everything she's done…" she muttered.

"Funny. You didn't buy that argument when I explained how I rationalized what I did to Gold. You know, I think your judgment's getting a bit muddied there."

"Well, hopefully, we won't need to use that leverage," Emma said. "But if it comes down to it? I'm not risking Zelena using Roland to hurt Robin. And if a bit of phony paperwork will get her to back off, it beats knocking her out and locking her in a storage room." She paused for a moment. "Which is what I did with the last person who attacked someone I was with."

"Should I be glad you're not contemplating a more permanent solution?"

Emma was glad that they were stuck in traffic, because she probably would have slammed on the brakes to avoid an accident while she gave August a piece of her mind. "Murder?" she exclaimed. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

"Hey, just checking how far you'd go," August shot back. "I mean, you're already breaking the law."

"August, there is a _huge_ difference between creating a phony criminal record for a real criminal and killing them!"

"Emma," August said slowly, "did you read Regina's story in Henry's book? She didn't start out as the Evil Queen. It was something small. Maybe you could even argue it was justifiable. She shoved her controlling, power-hungry mother through a portal to another realm. And discovered that she had a talent and a love for magic."

"Which Gold corrupted," Emma said.

"Yeah, he manipulated her. But he didn't force her to make the choices she made. He just made them seem like her best options. That's how it begins. With doing something a little bit gray to someone who probably has it coming. And then it builds. Next time, the person might not deserve it as much, but you convince yourself that your needs are greater and they'll understand when it's all over. And then one day, you stop caring whether anyone understands and just do whatever the hell you want." He turned his face to the window. "Our village was lucky. Regina only threatened us. In Carter's Haven, she slaughtered every man, woman, and child—right down to the infants in arms."

Emma let out a long breath. "We can't delete the record now. Unless you've got some mad hacker skills I don't know about. But once we get back home, I'll take care of it."

"And you won't use it against Zelena?"

"That was never the main plan," Emma said. "It's more insurance to stop Zelena from trying to fight us. That's it. If she tries involving the authorities, she'll get burned." She paused. "I'll warn her. Probably smart in any case; the cops might get sloppy and not run the check. Or they might just arrest us all and sort it out later. If she knows what we cooked up, that might be enough to convince her not to make waves."

August was silent for almost a full minute. "And you'll delete that record as soon as we're back in Storybrooke?"

"I don't know how," Emma admitted. "But I'll do my best to convince Regina."

"Okay," August said. "I still don't like it, but I guess that's the best you can do at this point."

They inched forward for another couple of blocks before Emma spoke again. "So, how does it feel stepping into Archie's shoes?"

August smiled. "I'm not," he said. "For one thing, Archie—Jiminy—could be a real pain in the butt. Which I never am," he added.

"Pleading the fifth, here," Emma murmured, her eyes intent on the road. "Is there another thing?"

"Yeah. Jiminy's job was a lot harder. See, I didn't have a conscience of my own. That's why Blue gave him the job being mine. I might not have been _dark_ , but if you've been laboring under the impression that I had any kind of innate moral compass, sadly, all Blue's spell did was bring me to life. I had to learn the rest of it on my own. Well. With Jiminy, but I spent a lot of time trying to run away from him."

"From your conscience."

"Yeah, well when that still small voice isn't inside of you, that's actually doable. But, see, Emma, that's why Jiminy's job was harder. You've got a moral compass. I just had to get you to check the calibration."

"Thanks."

"Just… be careful." August wasn't bantering anymore. "Seriously. I know you want to do the right thing. For Robin, for Roland… for Gold. But—"

"But it's not enough to do the right thing if I don't go about it the right way," Emma nodded. "I hear you."

"Okay. How are we for time?"

Emma turned right onto West Street. "Well, it looks like we're out of the gridlock, finally," she said. "So, with any luck, we'll be at the Cloisters in about twenty minutes. Still almost two hours to go before we can expect Regina and my dad to show up."

"Well," August said, "I suppose we could always walk around the grounds. Maybe even go inside. We can text Regina to let us know when they get there." He smiled. "I might be a village kid at heart, but some of the architecture reminds me a bit of the places Father and I passed through when we'd travel to pay court to your parents. I can show you which parts."

"This isn't going to be like that time you took me out for a drink, is it?"

"You liked that water." He laughed. "It's something to do while we wait. And the Cloisters are definitely worth seeing. But two hours probably won't be enough time. So, I guess we can always come back here with the others in a day or so."

"Unless Gold shows us he's ready to go back home."

August hesitated for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "Unless he shows us."

Emma couldn't help noticing that his smile was a good deal more strained than it had been a second earlier. Just like she couldn't help being glad that the phony warrant was still in the NCIC database.

Just in case it was needed.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The screenplay for _Lili_ (MGM, 1951) was written by Helen Deutsch after the story "Love of Seven Dolls" by Paul Gallico. Spoiler alert: I am giving away the plot and some of the better lines. Some additional dialogue has been lifted from S4E20: Lily. (And yes. The similarity of source names really is a coincidence!)

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

 

It was a good thing, Rumple reflected, that he hadn't truly suffered a heart attack, at least not one in the conventional sense. He remembered the doctor who'd cautioned him to avoid excessive salt and fat. Had the dietary advice been correct for his condition, the contents of the popcorn bag Belle held on her lap would probably have triggered a relapse. He much preferred the sort he'd made back in Storybrooke—in a covered cast-iron skillet with olive oil and Cajun seasoning.

He couldn't find much positive to say about the first film. He'd never been a fan of musicals, at least not of these classic movies with their breezy songs and insipid plots. He did own the soundtracks to several later shows—stage, not screen. He enjoyed listening to those. But this film was about as far removed from _Phantom of the Opera_ and _Les Miserables_ as this realm was from the Enchanted Forest.

What had been going through Booth's mind? More to the point, what had been going through the minds of whoever had honored this film with the 'Best Picture' award? Perhaps, 1951 had simply been a poor year. The movie's one saving grace was the young actress, Leslie Caron, whose coloring and features reminded him somewhat of those of the woman sitting beside him. Perhaps, in her teens, Belle had looked much like her.

Rumple stole a glance at her now. Belle's eyes were fixed on the screen, her expression rapt. And her resemblance to the lead actress was all the more marked.

Well. At least he could enjoy her company, even if he wasn't enjoying the film. He reached for another piece of popcorn. Strange. This bite was more palatable than the last had been.

* * *

Regina and David arrived at the designated meeting spot at half-past two. By then, August and Emma had seen three of the museum's four cloisters.

"Guess we'll need to wait to see Saint-Guilhem another day," August smiled, as they made their way back to the door by which they'd entered.

"We'll mention it to the others," Emma nodded. "If yesterday was anything to go by, I think they'll enjoy the art."

"Don't forget the building styles. Remember how Belle said those houses at Snug Harbor reminded her of home. I'm willing to bet these would, too."

Emma nodded, even as she waved to two approaching figures. As she did, they quickened their pace.

"Emma!" For one moment, she thought her father was about to hug her and, despite herself, she tensed. While she was growing accustomed to public displays of affection from her parents, somehow they felt more natural in Storybrooke, where everyone knew her, than out in the world beyond the town line. It was as though they were part and parcel of a place that followed very different rules and expectations, but didn't belong outside its borders.

Or maybe she was making excuses for feeling her walls go up again. She smiled. "Dad! Regina!"

Regina was looking around the area. "I wonder why the curse didn't incorporate something along these architectural lines," she remarked.

"Well, if it was supposed to conform to something typical for the area," August smiled, "Medieval designs never caught on in coastal Maine. Some of these buildings were disassembled in Europe stone by stone, then shipped here and rebuilt."

David frowned. "Wouldn't it have been cheaper to just… build something from local materials in the same style?"

"Probably," August shrugged. "But Rockefeller wasn't looking to do cheaper when he commissioned the project."

"If we could get away from budgetary concerns for one moment," Regina began tartly. Then her irritated expression softened and a hint of worry shone through. "Has anyone given some thought as to how we convince Robin that the woman he thinks is his wife is able to go green and powerful without the benefit of gamma radiation?"

At August's raised eyebrow, the mayor looked down. "I was curious about a comic Henry was reading a few weeks ago. He gave me a quick synopsis of the main character's backstory. Which," her tone turned strident once more, "is really beside the point. What happens when we show up at the apartment and Zelena denies everything and makes it sound like I cooked this whole thing up to try to get Robin to leave her?"

"We'll work it out," David said, raising his hands in what was meant to be a calming gesture.

"Yes, we will. Now," Regina said. "Tinkerbell was right about the idiocy of walking into Pan's lair without an exit plan—but that time, at least, we had everything else worked out. This time, all we have is an exit plan and we need more."

"That's it," Emma said.

"That's what?" August asked the question, but Regina and David wore the same puzzled expression.

"Pan," Emma smiled. "When he was in Henry's body," she glanced at August, "Uh… long story; ask me later. The way he got us to believe him was because he knew moments. Things Pan couldn't know. And… I don't know when Zelena switched places with Marian, but I don't think she exactly had time to plan much or-or question Marian or anything. I mean, when I decided to bring her back it was," she looked away guiltily. "You called it, Regina. I wasn't thinking of much beyond how leaving her behind would be condemning her to death. Bringing her back with us was almost pure impulse."

Regina had been glowering, but now, her expression smoothed. "Which means that Zelena probably _doesn't_ know the details of the past Marian and Robin shared." She smiled. "We can work with that."

"Well, let's work fast," August said. "Traffic's bad enough now, but if we wait until we hit rush hour…"

"Right," David nodded. "Let's go."

"So…" Emma said, as they headed toward the parking lot, "how's Henry doing? I spoke to him last night and he sounded okay, but is he?"

"He's fine," Regina said. "At least, he was when we left. Still… this is the first time we've both gone off and left him behind."

"Snow's looking after him," David said. "And he's old enough to understand what's going on. He'll be okay."

"As long as Mom doesn't decide she needs to prove she can be cool again," Emma muttered.

"I think you can rest easy on that, Emma," Regina smiled. "I let her know that there's a town bylaw that clearly states that there is a fine of up to five thousand dollars for damaging or destroying city property. Since Henry is a minor, it would fall on whoever was Henry's guardian at the time the destruction transpired. I'm fairly confident that Storybrooke's mailboxes are safe for now."

Emma smiled back.

* * *

There was a café in the theater lobby and, after the first show, Rumple and Belle spent the forty minutes before the next show having a late lunch. "I wonder if Mrs. Lucas might put panini on the menu if we suggested it," Belle mused. And Rumple tried not to read too much into the 'we'. He still didn't understand what he needed to do to convince them to let him return home. And while Emma had implied that she'd be willing to end the examination rather than leave him behind, he hadn't forgotten one important point. Belle still had his dagger. She'd sent him over the town line once. She was capable of doing so again. He couldn't trust her not to. Perhaps, she'd allow him to pack a small suitcase with non-magical essentials and some limited funds this time. But letting him back was not letting him stay.

It was with these thoughts uppermost in his mind that he walked back into the theater auditorium with Belle to watch the second film.

* * *

"What?" August demanded, as Emma drove toward the park exit, checking her rearview mirror to be sure that Regina and her father were following. "I've seen that look on your face before. What's the matter?"

"I'm not sure," Emma admitted slowly. "I mean, I admit I don't know much about how magic works and maybe I'm a little unclear sometimes on the whole dark-versus-light business if it's not something obvious, like crushing someone's heart. I mean," she said again, "Gold can heal. Which, to me, sounds like it should be light magic. Regina didn't lose her fire spells when she switched sides, which makes sense because fire isn't necessarily good or bad; it's what you do with it."

"Just about everything can be like that. Maybe not healing…" He stopped. "Actually, if you're torturing someone and then you heal them, just so you can keep them alive to hurt them more, then yeah. Even healing."

Emma sucked in her breath. "You are not talking to my son until he gets over his Edgar Allan Poe kick," she said.

"Hey, you brought up the subject. What about it?"

Emma hesitated. "Well, it kind of goes back to what we were talking about in Snug Harbor. That part about how the… the Sorcerer was the guy who gave the Author his power? His magic is Light, right?"

August nodded. "Yeah, about as Light as it comes." He frowned. "Is that a problem?"

Emma nodded. "Kind of. Because if that's true, then something else you told me doesn't make any sense at all…"

* * *

As Booth had joked, Rumple had no difficulty comprehending why the puppet considered _Lili_ to be one of his favorites. At first, he was simply relieved that this film seemed to be a bit more realistic about the troubles that could beset a powerless person with neither patron nor status. Such situations couldn't be resolved by breaking into song and dance. No, Rumple could definitely see how a naïve innocent could arrive in town seeking a protector, only to be told that the person she was looking for had died, then be offered a position for little more than room and board by a man who immediately tried to take advantage of her innocence and vulnerability. And then, for the girl to fight off his advances, only to be thrown into the street amid a stream of insults and verbal abuse that painted _her_ as the party in the wrong—oh, yes, Rumple could empathize with this one. And, he reflected, it must have also reminded Booth of his time with that puppeteer who had feigned friendship in order to force the puppet into similar servitude.

He did get a bit annoyed when the girl managed to secure a new position—which she promptly lost through her own inattention. Getting too caught up in watching a magic show to perform the duties for which she'd been hired garnered no sympathy from him.

Even if the girl did remind him even more of Belle in this film than in the earlier one.

Ah. Of course, there would be a puppet show in the film somewhere. This had to be another of the reasons why this was a "sentimental favorite" of Booth's. And yes, the girl played her part well, interacting with the marionettes with a frank naturalness that made him smile.

Especially when he glanced at the seat beside him and saw Belle gazing at the screen, her blue eyes wide with wonder.

He frowned and leaned forward sharply. The puppeteer, he realized, was a war veteran who walked with a pronounced limp. He wasn't certain whether he should be intrigued, or annoyed with Booth for thinking that just because a character on the screen had a similar injury to his own, that Rumple would immediately identify with the man.

The man who kept his vulnerabilities carefully hidden behind multiple masks, acting bitter and irascible as he practically drove away the girl with whom he was falling in love. Because this character, this… _Paul Berthalet_ was so certain that his love could never be returned.

A warm hand slipped into his and squeezed. Almost on reflex, he squeezed back. And then, Belle reached over with her other hand to clasp the back of his, sandwiching it between both of hers in a firm grip.

A slow smile spread his lips and he pulled his attention back to the screen.

* * *

"Regina!" Standing in the doorway, Robin's face lit up for an instant, before his smile dropped away. A moment later, it was back, albeit strained. "Well. This is a surprise. I'd scarcely expected to see you," his gaze panned over the other three people standing before him, "to see any of you again. At any rate," he continued, "it is good that you're here," he said. "But I'm not certain Marian is going to be up for any company. She… wasn't feeling well this morning and decided to go to the free clinic and have a physician examine her." He shook his head. "We're finding it difficult to obtain insurance here."

"No official papers can be a pain," August nodded. "I've been there."

Regina exhaled noisily. "We're sorry to intrude," she said. "We wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. I know you made your choice and I wouldn't ask you to change it for anything. But Emma discovered something the other night that… might change that decision. And you'll probably want to sit down before we tell you."

Robin's eyebrows shot up. "I don't see how that could be possible," he said. "But I suppose you'd best step inside then," he said, moving aside so that they could file in. "Though it would probably be best if you didn't stay too long."

As Robin ushered them over to the sofa, a small boy sitting at a battered wooden table with a half-finished drawing and a box of crayons leaped up, much to the surprise of a teenaged girl seated across from him. "Regina!" he exclaimed, launching himself at her. As he threw his arms around her waist, a tender expression came to the mayor's face as she hugged him back with one arm and ruffled his hair with her free hand.

"It's good to see you too, Roland," she said with a smile on her face and a catch in her voice.

* * *

Rumple wasn't thinking about his circumstances or the threat hanging over his head. He'd almost forgotten the woman he loved, still holding his hand in hers. He was focused on the screen, watching as the young woman, Lili, decided to walk away from the circus, after she'd learned that Marcus—the man she'd spent much of the picture pursuing—was married to someone else.

Meanwhile, Paul was finally receiving some long overdue recognition for his talent, in the form of a pair of impresarios with an offer that Rumple assumed was meant to be lucrative.

_You've hit on a new career, Berthalet, that'll outstrip anything you could've done as a dancer. But you must know this, or you wouldn't have given up your dancing for it._

_I didn't give up anything. I became a puppeteer because it was the only way I could earn enough to feed myself. You see, a dancer grows conscious of his body. When it'll no longer do what he wants it to do, he grows to hate it. So I hid mine behind the curtain of a puppet stage._

Rumple closed his eyes in silent empathy with a fictional character from a film shot some sixty-odd years ago. But even with his eyes shut, he could still hear the impressarios apologizing for their ignorance and lack of tact.

_No. You've done the greatest thing for me you could've done. Tell me again what you said._

_You mean that I think you've chosen a new career that'll outstrip anything you might've done as a dancer?_

No, Rumple thought. That wasn't why Paul sounded so happy. It was because they'd…

_…said that before you knew I was lame. You meant it?_

_I meant it and more. I'll underwrite your new career._  
  
Rumple smiled. Then he froze. Lili. Lili was leaving and she had no idea how Paul felt about her. He couldn't let her walk out of his life; he couldn't make the same mistake Rumple had made all those years ago, when he hadn't let himself believe that he could find love.

He'd never let himself believe it. Even when he'd had it, he'd refused to trust that it could be real. But… but Paul wasn't a villain. Surely the author of this film had given it a happy ending?

He squeezed Belle's hand and was reassured when she squeezed back. He focused on the screen.

Lili was walking past the puppet stage and Paul, behind the curtain, the puppet named "Carrot Top" on his hand, called out to her, pleading with her not to leave.

 _…_ _I wanna go with you, wherever you go. It won't be the same here without you. You're my sweetheart, you see? It was love at first sight. From the first moment I saw you walking by, wearing that... awful hat, and carrying that lopsided suitcase. Please...oh, please don't leave us, Lili! I never had a real friend until you came along. Please take me with you. If you really loved us, you wouldn't go away._

 _Oh, but I do,_ Lili protested. _It's just that I..._

_I'll say it. You hate the boss. He's unreasonable. He's mean. He's jealous. We'll protect you from him._

_Oh, you always have. You've always been so kind and good... and you seem to know what's in my heart or what I'm thinking and what I'm feeling._

Didn't she realize? Rumple wondered. Why couldn't she see that the only way that Paul could show his feelings was if he hid them behind his hand puppets? Why couldn't she tell that he was afraid to be honest about how he felt? Afraid of being rejected? Afraid that she'd never see past his shortcomings.

 _Lili? Here. It's our going-away present._ It was the fox puppet doing the 'talking,' now, while the other puppets cautioned that he'd likely stolen the gift—a fur that looked suspiciously like that of a fox. _I didn't steal it. If you must know, I'm paying for it on the installment plan._

_What happens if you don't keep up with the payments?_

I _know_ _him,_ Carrot Top broke in. _He'll never keep up. They'll come and take it away from you._

_No, they won't. I made a deal._

_What sort of a deal?_ Lili sounded nervous. As nervous as she might if... well, if she'd learned that Reynardo had made his deal with the Dark One.

_Well, I agreed that if I didn't keep up with the payments, I'd give the man something else in exchange. I signed a paper._

_Uh-oh. He signed a paper,_ Carrot Top repeated.

 _What does the man get in exchange?_ Lili asked.

_Another fox fur._

_Another?_

_Uh-huh... me._

_Well, you poor darling. You traded your life to get me a present._

And now, Carrot Top began pleading once more to go with Lili. _Why don't you take us all with you? We don't want you to forget us, Lili._

Lili's voice was gentle as she replied. _I never could forget you. You've become so very dear to me. You're the only things I love. I know you love me, too. Why, you poor darlings, you're trembling._ Suddenly, Lili's eyes narrowed. And with one swift motion, she yanked down the puppet stage's backdrop, revealing Paul standing there, exposed, the Carrot Top and Reynardo puppets on his hands.

 _Well,_ he demanded, _are you staying or going? We've had an offer from the Folies Paris, but we can't accept it without you._ No, Rumple thought frantically. That's not the way it's supposed to go! I may not know much about love, but even I know that much!

Sure enough, Lili didn't soften her glare. _I've been an idiot,_ she snapped. _A stupid fool. Melting and sniveling over Reynardo and Carrot Top. I must be crazy. They've become so very dear to me, I forget... I forget every time that it's only you. Or is it you? Is it? Wh-what are you? Are you just a monster without any feeling? Why can't you ever say a kind word? Why do you hide behind those puppets?_

 _I am the puppets!_ Paul cried out with an anguish that made Rumple flinch, even as he tightened his grip on Belle's hand. Or had she tightened hers on his? _I'm Carrot Top,_ Paul continued, no longer hiding his pain. _Confident, clever, capable of running his life and yours and everybody else's. And I'm Golo the Giant: Cowardly, stupid, longing to be loved, clumsy, and in need of comforting. And I'm Marguerite, too: Vain, jealous, obsessed with self, looking at my face in the mirror. Are my teeth nice? Is my hair growing thin? And I'm Reynardo the thief, the opportunist, full of compromise and lies. Like any other man, I have in me all these things, all of these and as many more again. Must I make a new puppet for the small part of me you've managed to see? The monster?_ _The angry man? The frustrated dancer, clumping along with a leg anchored to the ground, and a heart anchored to... but you don't have to understand me or even like me. This is business._

 _Not anymore,_ came Lili's cold retort _._

Rumple's hands were sweating. His eyes were burning and he wiped them on his sleeve and wished that he'd carried a handkerchief. Leaving aside that, in his case, the 'monster' occupied a far larger part of his own makeup, Rumple felt as though he was looking in a mirror. Or listening to one. He was glad that the theater was dark and nobody could see him crying his eyes out at an old movie that probably wasn't even meant to be a tearjerker. He could let go and nobody would notice… Belle pressed a tissue into his hand and he accepted it with a shaky nod. And then, she gently extracted her hand from his grasp and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

The previous movie had had a long ballet that Rumple had judged to be a pointless digression from the story that would have been better off on the cutting room floor. _Lili_ had one as well. But now, he was glad that it wasn't essential to the plot. It gave him time to collect himself, realize that Belle was with him now, that she was holding him, comforting him, as though the events that had taken place some seven weeks ago had all been some nightmare and she'd never sent him away. So, when the ballet ended and Lili ran back to Paul's embrace as the film ended, he was calm once more. And when the lights came on to herald another forty-minute break before the next movie began, there was no indication on his face of the effect that the movie had had on him.

"Well," Belle said softly, "I do think that the mark of great art is that it gives you something to think about. If that same criteria holds for movies, then I'd say this qualifies."

Rumple nodded in response. "Indeed," he managed. As they walked out of the auditorium, Belle slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. And Rumple dared to hope that things might turn about for him shortly.

* * *

"Oh," Robin said, as the four sat down. "Where are my manners?" He smiled in the direction of the teen at the table. "This is our… well, our nanny, Billina. Marian engaged her last week. Actually," he added, "she's the reason that Marian was able to join us the other night."

Billina smiled and tucked a short lock of golden hair behind one ear. "Hi."

There came a chorus of responses in kind. Then Regina turned back to Robin. "What I'm going to tell you might sound crazy," she said, conscious of the stranger in the room and wondering what she was making of this visit. She reminded herself that it didn't matter. They'd be gone in five minutes. "I assure you, though, that it's the truth."

"Regina?" Robin asked. "What are you talking about?" Regina took a deep breath. "Marian," she said. "We have to leave before she comes back. She is not who she says she is."

Robin blinked. "Wh-what?" Then his glance lit on the table. "Billina," he said, "why don't you take Roland into the other room? Play that picture lottery game with him."

Billina smiled. "Sure. C'mon, Roland."

Roland got up, but instead of going with the nanny, he took a step toward the sofa. "You mean, she isn't my momma?" he asked with a worried frown. "Then… who is she?"

Robin half-rose from his seat. "Of course, she's your mother. Now go with Billina and—"

"Is that why she doesn't love me?" Roland interrupted.

"What?" Robin sent an angry glance in Regina's direction. Then he turned back to his son. "Roland, of course she loves you."

"No she doesn't, Papa," the boy insisted. "She just pretends to."

Robin sighed. "Roland, now that's simply not so. Your mother's just been under a lot of stress lately. It's hard to adjust to a new place, particularly for grownups."

"Not for you, Papa," Roland pointed out.

"Of course, for me."

Roland shook his head. "But you love me even if it's hard for you to adj… adj… what you just said, Papa. She doesn't."

"Of course, she—"

"Robin," Regina interjected. "Roland's right. The woman you think is your wife is… my sister. Zelena."

Robin flinched. "The witch? B-but she's dead. We all saw that."

"Somehow," Regina continued, "she tricked us and went back in time. Robin... She went back, and she killed Marian. She took her place to get back at me."

"No," Robin said. "It-it's not possible. This is madness."

"Maybe," Emma said. "But it's also the truth. Listen. Since she's been back, have the two of you talked about anything that went on before? I mean, back in the Enchanted Forest?"

"Yes!" Robin said. "At first. And then, Marian said she didn't want to think about the past and that we needed to make a future."

"Has she ever brought up anything about your lives together if you didn't prompt her first?"

"Of c—" Robin broke off from speaking with a stunned expression. "No," he said. "It couldn't be..."

"Robin," Emma said, "when I went through that time portal, I met your wife. I mean, I didn't know it until we came back, but I got the chance to talk to her, to get to know her a little bit. And the woman I met was not the woman who sat at the table with us two nights ago. Didn't you notice how she was needling Gol—uh… Rumpelstiltskin—every chance she got?"

"I noticed that he was uncomfortable," Robin admitted, "but that doesn't mean…" He looked at Roland and frowned worriedly. "If what you're saying is true," he said slowly, "then…" He glanced at the nanny.

"Billina, will you help Roland pack enough essentials for two or three days?"

He waited until the bedroom door closed before he turned back to his company. "Part of me wants to believe you. Part of me doesn't dare. But if I disregard what you're telling me and you're telling the truth, then my son isn't safe here." He hesitated. "Take Roland to Central Park. There's a zoo there; he loved it when we took him two weeks ago. When Zel—Marian… whoever she is… comes back, I'll talk to her. Then I'll meet you in the park. If what you've told me is correct, I'll return with you. If it isn't…"

"If it isn't," David spoke for the first time, "we'll apologize and be on our way."

The bedroom door opened and Billina came out.

"Is he ready?" Robin asked.

Billina didn't reply. Instead, she looked at them with a beady-eyed, almost bird-like gaze.

"Billina?"

The teen cackled loudly. Then her eyes glowed bright red and she lunged toward Robin, her fingers stiffening into talons as leathery wings exploded from the back of her button-down blouse.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

"Seriously?" Emma exclaimed as she darted for cover behind the sofa. "Didn't I just go through this a couple of months ago?"

David's hand flew to his hip. Puzzlement gave way to realization and he leaped away to join his daughter. "Forgot I wasn't wearing a sword," he muttered sheepishly.

"Well, if you brought your gun, don't use it. If one of the other tenants hears and they call the cops…"

"Got it," David nodded. Then he gave a start and bellowed, "Roland!"

The little boy was standing in the bedroom doorway, wide-eyed and trembling.

"Roland!" Robin shouted. "Get in your room and close the door!"

But Roland stood there, frozen with terror at the apparition before him.

"I may not know how to fight one of those things," August said, "but I can do this! Robin! Distract Billina!"

Robin, evidently, _had_ brought his sword with him when he'd left Storybrooke. Or else he'd procured one somewhere, because he now had a blade in his hand and he held it before him, the hilt below his waist, the blade angling upward and pointed toward Billina's throat. He took a step toward the flying creature, now fully transformed.

Billina screeched and lunged for him. As she did, August hurtled past her, catching Roland in a flying tackle and knocking him into the bedroom. He turned and slammed the door shut behind them. "I hope that'll keep her away," he muttered.

Roland began to cry.

"Hey," August said, gathering him up in his arms. "Hey, it's okay. We're safe in here. Let the others deal with that monster. They're good at that. We just have to stay here, out of the way, and we'll be fine."

He hoped.

* * *

"How would you feel," Rumple ventured, "about missing the third film altogether and walking about outdoors?"

Belle smiled. "I didn't want to say anything," she said with some relief, "but I think two films in one day are enough for me. As comfortable as the seats are, I think I'd like to move about now."

"Then, let's," Rumple said, with the soft smile he'd always seemed to reserve for her. "We should have time to find some points of interest before the others are due back here."

Belle nodded and pulled out her phone. "I think I could probably find a few," she said. "I'll just let the others know that we're going and ask them to let us know when they're on their way."

Rumple's smile widened. _And perhaps,_ he thought, without _the others about, you might relent and tell me precisely what it is you all want from me so that I can agree to it and return home before it's too late._

* * *

Robin sighed with relief as the bedroom door slammed shut with Roland and August on the other side of it, but the moment's distraction was nearly too costly. The monster was somewhat hampered by the close confines of the apartment, but things still could have gone extremely badly for the former thief of Sherwood, had David not stepped quickly in front of him, holding a wooden chair aloft as a makeshift shield. The monster slammed into the chair and it broke into several pieces. David staggered backwards, just as Robin leaped back into the fray, advancing steadily but cautiously and holding his blade before him.

"Wait," David warned. "That's an innocent girl who Zelena transformed into a…" He frowned. "Just what the hell is that?"

Emma blinked. Her father was right. The wings were leathery, but the creature's body had sprouted feathers of a dull burnished bronze color, not fur. Its head was also feathered and its nose was a great curved beak, like that of a falcon.

"Griffon," Regina snapped, darting out from behind the sofa, a small phial clutched in one hand.

"Regina!" Emma screamed, as the creature—griffon, rather—took to the air. Then she caught herself. The last thing the mayor needed now was a distraction. If she couldn't help, then she needed to stay down and keep out of the way. Wait. The bathroom was only a couple of yards behind her. And if it had what she thought it did in it…

She bolted through the open door and quickly opened the medicine cabinet. Finding nothing useful, she swore and turned to the vanity, flinging both doors wide, the better to rummage through it. Yes! Grabbing the canister of spray deodorant, she dashed back out. "HEY!" she yelled.

The griffon cocked its head and looked in her direction. As it did, Emma angled the can upwards and sprayed its contents directly into the creature's eyes. The griffon reared back with a screech, just as Regina threw the phial. It hit the griffon square in the chest and a cloud of dark smoke surrounded it, obscuring it. A sulfurous smell emanated from the cloud and quickly filled the room.

"What was that thing?" Robin demanded, wheezing and holding his nose. He stepped hurriedly toward the window and flung it open wide.

"Magic dispeller," Regina gasped back, pressing a tissue over her own nose. "In case I had to prove to you that Zelena was using a glamor spell. It—"

"What in the—" David started to say, looking at the rapidly dissipating smoke.

"No way," Emma breathed. The griffon was gone. But in place of the blonde teen they'd met earlier, there strutted a clucking yellow hen that looked about as bewildered as the humans in the room.

"Looks like Zelena put Henny Penny here through more than one transfiguration spell," Regina said, patting her hair back into place.

Robin touched her shoulder briefly. Then he walked over to the bedroom door and knocked once. "It's safe to come out," he announced. "The monster is gone."

There was a moment's hesitation. Then the door slowly opened. "Papa?" Roland asked. Then he launched himself into his father's arms and held on.

Robin hugged him back. "It's all right," he whispered. "You're safe. It's all right, Roland." His eyes locked with August's.

"Thank you," he said simply.

August sighed. "I'm not much good in a fight," he admitted, somewhat shamefaced. "Not against something like _that_ anyway."

"Oh, no need for apologies," Regina said. "If I hadn't come prepared—and if the charm I'd brought with me hadn't been potent enough to overcome Zelena's magic—things could have turned out a lot worse."

"Well," Robin said, "I believe the matter of whether my wife is who she claims to be has been effectively settled. I think it best we depart now. Before the witch returns."

"Yeah, we're with you. Whatever you might need in the way of clothes or supplies can wait until we're back in Storybrooke," David smiled.

A ringtone was heard and Robin pulled his phone out of his pocket. Without so much as glancing at the display, he tossed the phone through the open window. They heard it hit the fire escape with a loud crack. "I haven't made many contacts yet," Robin explained. "That was either the witch, some sort of telephone solicitor, or a potential employer. I've no desire to speak to the first two and no need now to speak with the last."

The others nodded understanding. "Just one thing before we go," Regina said, pulling something out of her pocket. "I printed off a paper copy of that file we implanted before we left. She's still my sister, despite everything. I think it's only fair to warn her against doing anything stupid to try to stop us."

She unfolded the stapled pages and placed them on the table, where they were certain to be seen.

"Now, let's get the hell back to Storybrooke."

Robin winced and looked meaningfully down at the boy standing next to him. A rare flush came to Regina's cheeks.

"Sorry, Roland."

* * *

Belle and Rumple walked together down West 10th Avenue and admired the architecture—there were no townhouses in Storybrooke. And while the towns of the Enchanted Forest had certainly had _houses_ , they in no way resembled the joined, narrow, red-brick domiciles that graced the area. The two turned on Fifth Avenue and presently found themselves at the gates of Washington Square Park. They found a bench near a large fountain and stopped to rest.

"Well, this is lovely," Belle remarked. "We… uh… never did get much time to ourselves before." She laughed a bit. "Always some crisis or threat interfering."

Rumple's smile froze on his face. Evidently, Belle had forgotten that there was _still_ a crisis, even now. At least, there was to him. Still, he nodded.

Belle's forehead wrinkled. "Rumple? Is everything all right?"

He sighed. "I'm doing a bit better than I was," he remarked. "But things won't really be all right, unless…"

Belle clasped his hand. "Nothing's been decided, yet," she said reassuringly.

"I know," he retorted. "But it would be helpful to have some idea of what _would_ bring about such a decision."

Belle nodded. She'd been expecting this. She'd been rehearsing her answers so that that she'd be able to deflect his queries without making it obvious that she was keeping things from him. "I wish I could tell you," she said. "If it were up to me…" she let her voice trail off. _If it were up to me, I'd tell you at once. But the last time things were up to me, I did what I thought was right and just made everything worse. As much as I think that Emma and August are wrong not to tell you what it is we're looking for, I have to admit that their approach seems to be working._

_Or are you playing us as usual?_

Rumple heard none of her thoughts, only her words. He couldn't say he found them surprising, though he'd actually hoped for better from the other two. "Well, what do the others want?"

Belle sighed, both with empathy and with relief. She was prepared for this question, as well. "They haven't mentioned anything about it to me in the last few days. I… I think after you told us your side of what happened after Zelena was beaten, it gave us all a lot to think about."

That response would have even fooled Emma's superpower. The last time they'd mentioned their plan to her had been that first morning in the hotel, before they'd decided to visit Snug Harbor. Rumple had opened up to them that evening. She wasn't lying.

 _Even when he's telling the truth, there's a lie in it somewhere._ Hadn't she lamented as much to Emma less than a week earlier? Was she truly behaving any better now? Of course, she was. This was for Rumple's benefit, not her own gain. She wasn't lying.

_No, I'm just leading him to believe a lie._

Rumple nodded, but despite his accepting smile, he felt a pang. Belle was hiding something; of that, he was nearly certain. Well. He couldn't say he blamed her. After the way he'd deceived her, he could scarcely be surprised that she didn't fully trust him.

After all, he wasn't sure that he could fully trust her anymore, much as he still wanted to.

"I imagine," he said after a moment's silence, "that we'll be dining after eight again this evening. I'm not particularly hungry at the moment, but it might be wise to get a quick bite to tide us over."

"I think we passed a café about a block before we came in," Belle nodded, hoping her relief at the change of subject wasn't as obvious as she thought it was. "We might as well double back, so Emma and August won't have to go so far afield to meet up with us. I'll text them the address, once we get there."

* * *

"You don't mind giving up the front seat?" Regina asked David, as Roland clambered into the back of her Mercedes.

David smiled. "Not a problem. Just give me a minute." He placed a hand on his daughter's forearm.

"Sorry we don't have time to have a real visit," he apologized. "But I guess you'll be home in a couple of days anyway."

Emma hesitated. "Actually, Dad, I think we're probably staying a bit longer."

"What?" Regina asked. "How much more time do you need?"

"I don't know," Emma admitted with an unconscious shrug. "I guess, as long as it takes."

"For what? Gold's heart to give out?"

Emma winced. "I really hope not."

Regina's expression softened. And when she spoke again, her voice had lost some of his stridency. "Emma, I've known Rumple a lot longer than you have. And I'm sorry to say that while he might have changed outwardly—his clothes, his skin, some of his mannerisms—deep down, he's still the demon imp he was when I first met him. He's the Dark One. And he's been the Dark One for almost two hundred years. The man he was before that got lost so long ago I doubt he even remembers him well enough to act like he's gone back to being that way."

" _You've_ changed," Emma reminded her.

"You think that's been easy?" Regina asked.

Emma hesitated. "I think," she said slowly, "that it got a lot easier for you after we got back from Neverland and my mother told everyone on the dock how much you helped us."

"She has a point," August spoke up.

Regina was silent.

"If I told you today that I wanted to bring him home with nothing more than a-a gut feeling that he was going to take a second chance if we offered one and change for the better, you'd be right to call me on it. I want to stay long enough to see if there's something more concrete, for him or against him, that would… would justify whatever it is we decide to do."

Regina nodded her understanding but her frown stayed. "You know," she said slowly, "there might be another option. There's a limit to how much damage he can do without magic. If he'll wear one of Pan's cuffs, I'd have less issue with his returning."

"Except that to hear him tell it," August said, "magic is the reason his heart condition stayed under control for so long."

"He didn't have magic for twenty-eight years," Regina reminded them. "And since then, thanks to Belle, he'd _allegedly_ been trying to change. And yet, his heart evidently went right on darkening after the Curse broke. Which would seem to imply that he went right back to his old habits and was fooling us all along—probably about even more than we know about."

"Wait," David said. "Hold up a second. Now, I'm not taking sides here, and I admit you know a lot more about Darkness than I do, but maybe there's another explanation. Regina, Snow told me about what happened after Cora died. How she went to you and asked you to put her out of her misery."

"Hang on," Emma said. "What?"

"You remember the state she was in," David said shortly. "She was looking for a way out and thought she'd found one." Despite his even tone, he winced visibly at the memory. Then he turned back to Regina.

"She told me you showed her where her heart had already started to darken. And that you told her—"

"—that once you blacken your heart, it only grows darker and darker," Regina almost whispered. "I remember. At that time, I didn't think that the trend could be reversed once started. Except that if it can't be, then I shouldn't have been able to defeat my sister at the warehouse. I shouldn't have been able to wield Light magic at all, never mind Light magic powerful enough to overcome her."

"So, how did you?" August asked. "I mean, if magic is predicated on belief, something must have happened to make you believe you could go Light."

"I broke the second Dark Curse," Regina said. "Henry realized that I'd needed Light magic to do it. At the time, I hadn't been thinking about Light or Dark or-or any kind of magic. I'd been reunited with the son I'd never hoped to see again and I-I kissed him." She stopped. "I used it without thinking. Henry made me believe I could do so deliberately."

She frowned. "You know, as skeptical as I still am about Rumple turning over a new leaf, you could be onto something. It was Rumple who told me that once a heart starts to darken, there's no coming back from it. And as much as I fought it at first, I knew that he was better-versed than I in such things and, in my heart of hearts, I believed him. I believed," she said slowly, "that I couldn't go back, so each time I tried but succumbed to my darker side, I took it as further proof that Rumple was right. Now, he could have just been lying to me to ensure I stayed on the path that would one day lead me to cast his curse. But if he actually believed—or _believes_ —that there's no going back…"

"Then his going through the motions and pretending to change might not always be Gold trying to catch us off-guard so he can blindside us," David broke in.

"It might be because he figures that faking it is the best he can do," Emma nodded.

"And if he really thinks he can't change," August said, "then he believes that every time he tries, he's setting himself up to fail."

"So, sooner or later, he does," Emma nodded again. "It makes sense."

Regina sighed. "It's a good theory. Not something I'd confront him with unless I was tired of living, but I agree you could be onto something. Be that as it may, how do you plan on convincing him to change his outlook?"

"Still working on that," Emma admitted.

"But you have no idea how long it'll take," David said.

"If I had some idea of how close we are to getting through to him, I might be able to give you a timeframe. Unfortunately, I don't. I'm… really out of my depth here. But I still think we're heading in the right direction."

"Speaking of heading in the right direction," Regina said, "we'd best get underway before my sister shows up. Keep me posted on any developments, Emma. One way or the other."

"I will."

"One of these days," David said, "we're going to come back here and you can show us around. But for now, I guess this is goodbye."

"I'll call you."

"As often as you can," David smiled, but there was a catch in his voice.

This time, Emma didn't care when he hugged her in the middle of the sidewalk before joining Roland in the back seat. Regina got into the driver's seat. As she did, Robin—already in the front passenger seat—turned his head toward her.

Looking through the window, Emma saw Regina smile and thought that, for a moment, the mayor seemed almost… vulnerable. Then Regina's usual poise reasserted itself and she turned a smooth face to the road ahead and turned on the engine.

As the motor started David twisted about in his seatbelt and waved. He was still waving as the car drove off.

Emma and August stood watching until the Mercedes disappeared around a corner. Then August touched her arm. "C'mon. Let's go meet up with the others."

* * *

It had been a long time since Zelena had been in such a good mood. Things were coming together better than she'd ever dreamed. If the doctor was correct, then she was about to do what Regina never would now. She knew this for a fact. Thanks to her mirror, she'd watched the moment when her half-sister had quaffed that particular brew. And, Zelena gloated to herself, to have achieved this accomplishment with the man on whom her sister's eye had fallen, oh, it was just perfect. She almost wouldn't need Rumple's assistance to procure her happy ending; fate was smiling on her already.

No, best to leave nothing to chance. Too many plans went awry at the last minute and it was prudent to cover all bases.

"Robin!" she was practically singing with joy, as she fitted her key in the lock. "Roland! I have wonderful news!" She pushed open the door. "Robi—"

Her voice trailed off uncertainly. The apartment was empty. More than that, it was _cold_. It was November. Who'd left the window open? And why?

She suppressed a wave of irritation. Here she was with some of the best news she'd had in ever so long, and there was nobody to share it with. With a sigh, she shut the window, dug her new phone out of her purse, and speed-dialed her husband.

Almost at once, she heard a familiar ring-tone, but it sounded muffled. Odd. Robin didn't usually leave without his phone, particularly not when he was worried about her. And he had been these last few days, when she'd been waking up nauseous. In fact, he'd urged her to go to the free clinic today to get looked after. And he'd called her several times while she'd been waiting to be seen among all of those other sick people.

She realized that the ringing was coming from outside and she moved back to the window. There was the phone on the fire escape. Now how had it gotten there? She saw some papers on the floor by the kitchen table and stooped to retrieve them. She was brought up short when she realized that the top sheet bore both her own image and Marian's. As well as an official-looking logo of some kind. She snatched off the note that was paper-clipped to it and read it with growing apprehension.

_Sis,_

_Robin and Roland are with me now. We're on our way back to Storybrooke. You might be thinking to involve the authorities to stop us. I'm writing this to let you know that doing so would be a very bad idea. You see, when one submits a report to a law enforcement agency, they run a check, not just on the people they've been asked to locate, but on the person who alerted them. And if they run a check on you, they will find the attached file already in their records..._

Zelena turned the pages rapidly, skimming the material. "No, no, no, no," she murmured, feeling her blood run cold. How had they done this? How could she circumvent it? How…?

She went out to the fire escape and retrieved Robin's phone. She couldn't reach him, but maybe she could reach…

_Robin? What's this? Why is Regina's number on here?_

She sucked in her breath. If she hadn't called attention to it, if she hadn't demanded he choose, then Robin would never have deleted it. But maybe Regina had called first, before she'd come by. Zelena scrolled through the calls received. No, there was nothing from Regina. But there was another number that might help her.

No. She wouldn't go crawling to the likes of Emma Swan. Not for anything.

Not for the child she was carrying? The child she now had no idea how she was going to support. She'd been—they'd both been relying on the money that Regina had given them when they'd left Storybrooke while Robin looked for work. That had been their agreement. He would do his best to support them for now, and once Roland started school in September, she'd go looking as well. She'd consented happily to that, even though she'd had no intention of spending her days in some dreary shop or office.

Now, with shaking hands, Zelena pulled open the kitchen drawer where they'd been storing it and lifted the cutlery holder.

The envelope was gone.

She had something like two hundred dollars in her purse, and when that was gone, that was it. She couldn't cover the rent next month. She'd need to start looking for work after all. Then she looked down at the pages in her hand and felt her heart lurch once more.

Those applications that Robin had brought home to fill out. They'd all asked—

Frantic, now, she ran into the bedroom. Yes, he'd left a few behind on the dresser. She fumbled through the papers until she found the question she was looking for:

_Have you ever been convicted of a crime in a court of law? If so, explain._

She let the application fall to the floor and looked at the next one.

_Have you been convicted of a crime in the past ten years, excluding misdemeanors…?_

She staggered back to the kitchen and let the reality of her situation sink in. She was alone, short on funds, virtually unemployable, on the verge of becoming homeless…

…And pregnant.

She had no idea what she was going to do now.

She sank down into a chair and got up abruptly as she heard two things: the clucking of a yellow hen she hadn't noticed until now… and the wet crack as she sat down on the egg that said hen had evidently just laid.

She cast a venomous look at the chicken. "Well," she proclaimed with some small satisfaction, "I suppose I at least know where my next meal is coming from…"


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The "Three Day Demand for Rent" is the first stage of the eviction process in New York. There's no reason for Zelena to be aware that there are, in fact, several steps in the process before an actual eviction might take place.

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

The café where they'd asked Emma and August to meet them was about half the size of Granny's, but the décor bore some similarities. So did the menu. The prices, however, were easily one-and-half times what they would have been back in Storybrooke.

"I can get that," Belle said, reaching for the check when their server brought it in a leather folder on a plastic tray.

Rumple started to argue, but caught himself. While he would have preferred to use the funds that Booth had advanced him, prudence won out. The four of them might not be staying in deluxe accommodations, nor dining in the best restaurants, but the costs of this interlude had to be mounting up. Booth's loan was a kind gesture and Rumple appreciated it. But he didn't dare to assume that such largesse would be forthcoming in the future.

Besides, he'd added Belle to his accounts when they'd married. There was a good chance that he _was_ , in fact, paying for dinner.

He smiled and nodded.

"It's only fair," Belle added, smiling back as she took out her wallet. "You _did_ pay for the popcorn. And the panini."

This was true enough, Rumple acknowledged, feeling his tension ease. And they'd been overpriced as well. "That I did," he nodding, smiling a bit more warmly.

"I… uh… think I'll go freshen up," she added a bit self-consciously. She counted off several small bills and placed them over the check, weighting the pile down with a pepper shaker.

"As you like. I'll await your return."

Belle was halfway down the stairs to the ladies' room when she recalled a detail that had slipped her mind. On their first night in New York, August had explained the concept of tipping culture to her. She'd encountered it in some of the novels she'd been reading, but the idea was still a bit odd to her. She understood showing appreciation for exceptional service, but surely it was up to the establishment to pay fair wages to its employees?

_"You would think that,"_ August had said. _"But it's kind of a vicious cycle. Because tipping is commonplace in this country, it's legal to pay wait-staff a lower wage than, say, clerical workers. The rationale is that the tips make up the shortfall. If that doesn't happen, by law, the restaurant needs to pay the difference between the server's base pay and the actual minimum wage. At least, in theory. In practice, if a server asks for it, they might suddenly find themselves getting fewer shifts or worse performance reviews. Otherwise known as 'documenting that a server may not be getting enough tips because they aren't very good at their job'. And if that's the case… well, it's best that they find work in a different field."_ A bitter note had stolen into his voice then, one that had intimated to Belle that he might have personal experience to back up his statements.

Somehow, she'd forgotten his words until now. Just like she'd forgotten to leave the tip. She hurried back up the stairs, her fingers already fumbling with the catch on her purse.

And then, from a distance, she watched as Rumple lifted up the pepper shaker, rifled through the bills, and reached into his pocket to add another one and some loose change.

He hadn't seen her.

He hadn't known that she was observing him.

He didn't have any cash on him beyond what August had given him.

And he'd still added the tip.

A wide smile broke on Belle's face as she headed back down the stairs.

* * *

"Well," Emma said later, when they were back in their hotel room, "I agree it's a good sign."

Belle frowned. "You don't think it's enough."

Emma sighed. "I don't think it's anything new, to be honest. The last time he was in New York with me and Henry, he didn't bat an eye at paying all our expenses. Even if Henry was a last-minute addition. Plus, in all the time I've known him, he generally tries to be a gentleman whenever he can be. And," she added quietly, "if he didn't already know about tipping before, he was sitting at the table, too, when August was talking about it. And I'm sure he's noticed when me or August have added a little extra to our own checks over the last few days."

But Belle hadn't. Even after August had explained about it, she hadn't paid much attention.

"I just… thought I saw something," she said dejectedly. That was a laugh. She hadn't even seen the others leaving tips. She'd been starting to think that she could trust Rumple. She couldn't even trust herself.

Emma only nodded. "I'm not saying you didn't. I'm just saying that after talking to Regina earlier… She sounded a lot like you did at the start of this trip. And right now? She's got the scroll. So, that means that if we can't come up with something… ironclad that proves he's on the right track, even _if_ we packed up and headed for Storybrooke this minute, Regina probably wouldn't let us over the town line unless Gold got out of the car first. His leaving a tip for the server won't cut it."

Belle shook her head. "It's ironic," she sighed. "It's almost as though he'd have an easier time coming back with us if he had fewer redeeming qualities. Then, any bit of good he did would likely be enough."

"Yeah, but if he had fewer redeeming qualities," Emma returned, "would we have driven down here in the first place?"

Belle shook her head. "I… guess I'd best keep looking, then," she said.

"We all will," Emma answered with a reassuring smile.

* * *

The morning brought more bad news that sent Zelena into a haze of self-righteous fury. She had _told_ Robin that this world's laws might vary wildly from those of their birth world. (Yes, theirs, she reminded herself fiercely. Even though she'd lived almost her entire life in Oz, she'd been born in the Enchanted Forest, too.)

He'd shrugged and reminded her that she'd supported his decision to become an outlaw in the first place.

_"Well, yes, but there's no need for it now. Plus there's Roland to think about. Really, Robin, just… knock on the manager's door and find out how much it is."_

Robin had sighed. _"It's been my experience that what the authorities don't know generally won't harm them and may help us. Marian, just because Regina gave me the keys to Baelfire's apartment doesn't mean that our living here is completely above-board. The lease is in Baelfire's name. Or, at least, in the name he used here. Were I to inform the manager that Baelfire has now passed on, it's likely to raise all sorts of questions about who we are and whether we have any right to take over these accommodations. It may not be unheard of in this land for one man to murder another with the object of stealing their home. And here we are, strangers, with little idea of the protocols and procedures necessary to live here. Our ignorance of this realm's customs is certain to draw attention. I tell you, it's wise not to rock the boat until we know how to sail it without capsizing."_

_"And meanwhile, we don't know how much rent is owing nor how much we need to pay."_

_"Well, when the landlord or their manager knocks on our door to inquire, we'll simply say that the tenant had to go out of town unexpectedly and asked us to check up on the property. We'll be happy to relay any message. And once we know the amount, it can be placed in an envelope and slipped under the manager's door."_

Well, the landlord had never come knocking. Instead, Zelena had awakened this morning to the sound of something slipped under _her_ door. She'd opened the envelope to discover that it contained a notice demanding that all outstanding rent be paid in full within three days, or a 'Petition for Eviction' would be filed. Zelena looked at the figure on the paper and shook her head, dumbfounded. Even if Robin hadn't taken the money with him when he'd gone, the amount in the drawer would have barely covered half of the total specified.

Billina squawked loudly and the witch smiled with satisfaction. "Continue to prove useful to me," she said, shooing the hen away and retrieving the egg, "and you will continue to live. Fail me, and I'll boil you for soup."

The hen strutted beneath the table and, completely ignoring her, began pecking at the crumbs that had accumulated there.

Three days, Zelena thought. Did that mean that the bailiffs would come to evict her in three days? She didn't know a soul whom she could ask—nobody who would be willing to help her, in any case—so, for now, she'd have to assume so.

She was muttering darkly about Robin for leaving her behind like this as she smacked Billina's egg against the edge of a mixing bowl, wishing it was his head instead.

When she pulled apart the shell, several pieces landed in the bowl together with the egg.

* * *

The days settled into a sort of routine. Breakfast at the deli by the hotel, where they would discuss what to do that day. They generally took the subway to whatever destination they decided upon and usually purchased lunch there—although they sometimes brought sandwiches from the deli. Then a late supper at the restaurant, and back to the hotel.

Rumple's apprehension grew as the week drew to a close. To his surprise, nobody else mentioned it. At first, he simply thought that they might be waiting until it would be seven days to the moment that Booth had found him or, perhaps, to the moment when they had all met at Emma's car. Then he thought that they might have meant from one Tuesday to the next—eight days, rather than seven. But the eighth day passed and then the ninth, and still nobody spoke a word.

Finally, on the tenth day, he got up enough nerve to ask them. After a pause that felt longer than it actually was, Booth finally replied, "If we didn't think there was any point in sticking around, we'd have told you. And some of us might have gone back already."

"I don't think so," Emma interjected. "I… guess I'm hanging around, no matter what. But for the record, I agree with August. It's too soon to make any kind of decision."

Belle nodded.

"And too soon to tell me what it is you want from me," Rumple stated, trying not to sound bitter.

"I wish we could," Belle answered. "Truly."

Rumple's lips twisted and when he spoke again, he didn't try to hide his irritation. "Well, if you yourselves don't know, I'm not sure how I'm expected to divine the answer." He pushed his chair back from the table. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'd like to spend the day back at the room. But don't let that ruin your vacation."

He strode away as quickly as he could with his limp, but not quickly enough to keep Booth from running to catch up with him. "Hey," he said, resting a hand on Rumple's shoulder.

Rumple stopped and glared at him. Booth sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know this has to be frustrating."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. Or do you think I ever enjoyed being told that if I was 'good', I could be a real boy someday and not having anyone bother to explain what being good meant beyond a whole list of dos and don'ts and listening to a cricket? And back then, I mostly saw Jiminy as a priggish little killjoy. I mean, I gotta tell you, if our world had cars—and if my feet had been long enough to reach the pedals of one—Jiminy might've ended up a spot on a windshield back in those early days."

Despite himself, Rumple snorted.

"Honestly, if we could tell you, we would. It's not like we're getting some sort of… of sadistic thrill out of keeping you guessing. But that being said, if you want to stay in today, we can stay in."

"You don't have to—"

"Yeah, well, I'd hate to be the kind of person who only does stuff he _has_ to. You want the room to yourself, I can do my woodworking anywhere; I just need a quiet corner, my tools, and enough newspapers not to make a mess. But, like you mentioned on our first morning, this isn't a vacation and nobody's forgetting why we're here." He waited for Rumple to meet his eyes before he continued. "For you."

Rumple looked away, hoping that his incredulity didn't show on his face. "I don't care if you want to attend to your little project in the room," he said with considerably less heat. "Just see that you do so quietly."

"You got it."

* * *

"I wish…" Belle said softly, her words almost drowned out by the voice of the talk show host on the television.

Emma muted the set. "Yeah," she said.

"Are we really right to put him through this? Maybe we're expecting too much. I-I don't blame him for being angry. As healthy as he seems, his heart isn't getting any better and we've been—I've been treating this like some new adventure every day. I mean, _we_ know we're trying to help him. But does _he_?"

Emma winced. "I really hope so. I thought he did. Does. Realize it, I mean. Trouble is, he's not used to it. And it sounds like he thinks we're using him as an excuse to do some sightseeing, when we're really using the sightseeing as a way of getting to know and understand him a little better."

"And trying to find reasons to trust him," Belle said, "which we can't actually explain, because once he knows, he's going to make sure we only see what we want to."

Emma turned off the TV entirely. "I don't like it either. Got any better ideas, though?"

Belle shook her head. "I'm afraid we're well past the point when we can just… give him a second chance. And even if we wanted to, there's Regina."

"Yeah."

Emma's phone went off then and she blinked, startled at the sound, as she picked the device up off the night table. Her eyebrows shot up as she read the name on the call display. "Robin?" Then a moment later, her face froze in an angry scowl. "You. I forgot he ditched the phone. What do you—no. No, on second thought, I don't care what you want. Don't call me again. Don't—"

Belle heard a frantic voice leak over the phone's speaker and, while she couldn't make out the words, there was no mistaking the panic.

Emma's eyes went wide. "You're WHAT?" she demanded. She took a deep breath. "Central Park. There's a skating rink near the south end. Meet me at the snack bar in an hour. Well, do you want me to involve the others right now? That's what I thought. And this had better be legit. No, the only thing I'm agreeing to is to listen to what you have to say. There is no way I'm promising to keep this private. You don't like it, I'll save myself the subway token. I'm not promising that either. One meeting. No conditions. Take it or leave it. Fine. One hour."

She ended the call and exhaled noisily.

"Emma," Belle ventured, "that wasn't…?"

"Zelena," Emma confirmed. "She wants me to meet her."

"And you're going?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah."

"Alone?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Emma hesitated. "I… I'd better get the whole story before I spill it and it's not the kind of thing I want to get over the telephone. My superpower sort of works better when I can also look at stuff like body language."

"But if the others ask where you went…?"

Emma sighed. "Tell them, I guess. Wait. Tell them I went to Central Park. I'm just… picturing Gold's reaction if he were to find out who I was meeting with and he's antsy enough already."

"And August…?"

"Might tell Gold. Or, if you asked him not to, might not be able to act like he isn't hiding something."

"I really don't like this."

Emma sighed again. "Neither do I."

"But you're still going?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Emma hesitated. "Because it'll probably be worse if I don't," she said finally. "If I'm not back by suppertime and you haven't heard from me, you can tell them everything."

She grabbed her coat and exited, even as Belle protested that Emma had barely told her anything. As she got into the elevator, she was wondering whether she was about to make another huge mistake.

Her wonderings didn't stop her from leaving the hotel and walking with brisk strides toward the nearby subway.

* * *

She walked back from Central Park, hoping the exercise and the air would help her clear her head. It didn't. Why, _why_ had she agreed to meet with Zelena when that frantic phone call had already told her what she needed to know?

_I wanted my superpower to see through her and tell me she was lying. I didn't want to think that a messy, complicated situation was about to get even more messy and more complicated._

Well, no such luck. Zelena was pregnant or, best-case scenario, Zelena had been _told_ by a doctor that she was pregnant and she believed it. Or, really best-case scenario, Zelena wasn't pregnant but had managed to use some sort of magical charm or self-hypnosis or something to make herself believe that she was, because if she believed that a lie was the truth, then she could get around Emma's built-in lie detector.

Much as she wanted to think so, Emma didn't believe that last one for a moment.

So. Zelena had impersonated another man's wife and was currently carrying his child. And Robin didn't know. Once he found out, Emma knew, he'd have to choose whether to go back to Zelena and raise the child he'd fathered, send some kind of support Zelena's way, or decide that he wanted nothing further to do with the witch.

Somehow, Emma didn't think he'd pick door number three. This was a man who'd chosen not to divorce the woman he'd believed was his wife, even if he no longer had the same feelings for her, because he'd held his wedding vows to be sacrosanct. If he knew that he was responsible for bringing a child into the world, he'd feel a duty to that child as well.

He didn't have to find out. Zelena had called Emma for one simple reason: she had no other way to get in touch with Robin. Which put the burden of informing Robin solely on Emma's shoulders.

But Robin didn't exist in some… bubble. Telling him would mean consequences for other people, too.

_You? You did this?_

_I just wanted to save her life._

_You're just like your mother. Never thinking of consequences._

Emma winced. She was thinking of them now. If she told Robin, and Robin felt that his duty to his unborn child outweighed his love for Regina…

Nothing good could come of telling Robin. Best he never knew. After all, the kid Zelena was carrying was probably going to turn out just like her. Why put him through that?

_I thought it was best that Neal never knew about Henry. It took me eleven years to realize that that was a mistake. I lied to Henry, thinking the truth would never come to light. Only it always does in the end. It has for me, for August, for Gold… Everyone. So, why do I think that this time would be any different? What happens if one day, maybe ten years later, Zelena's kid runs off, hops on a Greyhound for Storybrooke and, miraculously turns up on the one day in a blue moon when there's nothing wrong with the town line? And then, everything comes out._

Plus, if Zelena had only wanted a baby in order to screw Regina over, and Regina never found out… would Zelena even raise the child? Or would she let the baby go into the system? If she even carried the child to term.

_That's not my responsibility._

No, it wasn't. But Emma wasn't sure if she'd be able to deal with the guilt if something happened to the baby—something one phone call could prevent. And if the others found out, would they agree with her choice?

No matter what she decided, no matter which course she followed, people were going to get hurt.

It was an impossible situation. She thought about talking to someone. Belle, August, her parents… No, they'd all insist that she think of the baby and 'do the right thing'. Even if the right thing meant taking away Regina and Robin's happy ending a second time.

"I'm supposed to be in charge of restoring happy endings, not stealing them," she whispered, her breath steaming in the cold air. "How can hurting one of my best friends be the right thing?"

_How could risking an innocent child's well-being be the right thing?_

The wind seemed to slice through her and she hugged herself as she walked the last two blocks to the hotel. She didn't know what to do. She just didn't know.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some dialogue lifted from S3E11: Going Home, S2E1: Broken, and paraphrased from S4E17: Best Laid Plans.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

 

Rumpelstiltskin was bored. If the truth needed to be told, he would have rather gone on whatever excursion might have been planned or suggested for the day. He might even have ventured to suggest one; the others had been surprisingly willing to consider his input up until now.

He'd been so sure that, all protestations to the contrary, this _was_ a vacation for the others. The savior and the puppet had both lived much of their lives outside Storybrooke. Doubtless, they found being restricted to one town confining and were glad of an excuse to leave. And Belle had always wanted to travel. He'd been trying to prove a point by refusing to accompany them today. They could have their fun without him. And, knowing what they likely thought of him, they'd probably have more of it that way. Yes, he was not only confirming his suspicions, he was actually doing them a favor—at no cost—in the process.

The last thing he'd expected was for them to all stay in. Perhaps they thought he'd wanted to be alone to set some scheme in motion, but it wasn't as though he could do much with no magic, no spell books, and no magical artifacts. Here, he was vulnerable, helpless, and powerless to prevent the others from doing whatever they chose.

They were choosing to remain here with him.

He should have suggested visiting a bookstore yesterday. Belle would have been happy to oblige and he'd have something to read to pass the time. He'd never been overly impressed with the offerings on television. Out here in the world, perhaps there were more stations, but few additional programs worth his time.

He hadn't wanted to spin in weeks—not after long months spent as the witch's slave, weeks on end in that cramped cage with nothing but the wheel to occupy his hours. Apart from those moments in the day when the witch came to taunt and torment him. He'd used spinning to drown out the voices—the ones in his head and the one laughing at him outside the cage. Sometimes, it had even worked. But now, the sight of a spinning wheel brought to mind those months of confinement and he couldn't abide the thought of using one again. He'd hidden away the ones he owned; the one at the back of his shop and the one in his basement were now stored in the shed in his backyard. One day, perhaps, he'd bring them out again.

If he ever returned to Storybrooke.

Which certainly didn't appear likely at the moment.

He realized that Booth had gotten up from his work and was clearing his throat, trying to get Rumple's attention. He looked up in mute acknowledgment.

"I was just wondering whether you wanted to go back to the usual place for supper. If not, we could try somewhere else, or one of us could get takeout; I saw some restaurant brochures down in the lobby."

He could do with a change of scenery, at that. "I believe that Belle was partial to the panini we had the other day," he said, feigning a disinterested air. "Perhaps we might endeavor to find a place that would serve them."

Booth smiled. "There are a couple of Italian places I used to know that aren't far. Let me make sure they're still around. Is eight still a good time, or would you rather we headed there a little earlier?"

Gold shrugged. "It makes no difference to me. I… would prefer to walk the distance, though, if, as you say, they're close by."

"Sure," Booth nodded. "We'll just need to allow a little more time for travel, but we'll get there in the end."

Gold frowned. Was Booth talking only about the restaurant, or was he alluding to the conversation they'd had earlier that had resulted in their spending the day here? He didn't know, but he wasn't about to ask. Not now, not when he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. Still, the comment seemed to warrant more than a curt nod.

"Thank you, Booth," he said with a thin-lipped smile.

Booth grinned back.

* * *

Emma wished that they'd gotten Gold another phone. She'd been thinking about her meeting with Zelena all through supper and was dreading returning to the hotel, and to an inquisitive roommate. There was only so long she could put Belle off with an "I don't want to talk about it right now," before the librarian would insist on more.

She did need to talk to somebody, though. Somebody whose end of the conversation she couldn't predict. August might have been a good choice under other circumstances, but these days, he seemed to be adopting a far more black-and-white way of thinking when the situation was one of shifting shades of gray. And Belle had always been that way.

Normally, Regina would have been a good choice. Emma had meant what she'd told her some weeks back. There were some things she simply couldn't discuss with her family. Not when her mother was practically the poster child for hope and optimism with her father a close second. They always knew the right thing to do and never even contemplated doing otherwise. And Henry? Henry was the Truest Believer. For them, 'doing the right thing' was natural and easy. As much as Emma sometimes wished she could see things that simply, her upbringing and experiences had been markedly different.

Either her family wouldn't understand why she often struggled to make the right choices, or they would—but it would tarnish the way they perceived her. When Emma saw her parents in action, watched them fearlessly and consistently choose love and hope and openness while she just wanted to put her walls up higher and back away, it made her feel like a fraud. And even though Gold had once assured her that he'd "merely taken advantage of what she was," but that he hadn't "made" her the savior, there were times when Emma still felt overwhelmed by the expectations that everyone—her family, the town, maybe even Fate itself—seemed to hold where she was concerned. If Gold hadn't made her, then Fate had—and Fate might have been desperate. Or deluded. She'd never asked for this. She'd never asked for any of this. But, at least, until now, she'd always seen a clear right course of action. She might have tried denying it because it took her out of her comfort zone and she was scared and not feeling up to the task, but deep down, she'd known what to do.

This time, she didn't. And, while Regina had a razor-sharp bluntness that could slice through most excuses and rationalizations, Emma couldn't exactly discuss her current dilemma with her.

But she could discuss it with Gold.

_Seriously? Do you really think he's going to tell you to help Zelena? After everything she did to him?_

Actually, he might. Belle had told her about his first meeting with Robin Hood. How the thief had broken into his castle in search of a wand to heal his ailing wife and how Gold had nearly killed him for it, but relented when he'd realized that Marian was pregnant, and that killing Robin would leave the unborn child fatherless.

Besides, Emma told herself, if she wanted to hear all the arguments for telling Robin and Regina, she'd be talking to Belle and August. Gold wouldn't want to help Zelena, but he would carefully consider all sides and factors—including factors that might not yet have crossed Emma's mind.

And asking Gold's advice didn't mean she was going to do as he recommended.

But talking to him away from the others was going to be a little tricky. If Gold had still had his phone, she would have texted him. Instead, she waited until the check came and Gold got up to get his coat. Then she followed.

"Here," she said, lifting his coat off of the rack. As she handed it to him, she added in an undertone, "I need to talk to you. Not about this morning. Something else. When we get back, could you wait an hour and meet me in the lobby?"

Gold's eyes narrowed, but he gave her a slight nod as he took the coat and his expression was pensive as they made their way outside to wait for Belle and August.

* * *

"It is now one hour and seventeen minutes since our return," Gold informed Emma tartly as she stepped out of the elevator and made her way toward the lobby sofa where he was sitting.

"Sorry," Emma murmured. "It took me a little longer to get away than I thought." She'd waited until Belle was in the shower before vacating the room and she still didn't know what she'd say when she got back upstairs. Maybe she ought to head over to the deli after this and hope Belle was asleep by the time she slipped back.

Gold acknowledged the explanation with a brief nod. "You requested this meeting," he prompted, when she hesitated to begin.

"Yeah. I… I just need to talk to someone," she said. "Not so long ago, you told me that I always manage to do the right thing. I think I'm about to break that streak."

Gold's eyebrow shot up. "Do tell."

"Okay. Uh… I had a phone call a few hours ago and—" She broke off abruptly and an frowned. "No," she snapped angrily. "I'm sorry. It's not—I can't dump this on you. Not after everything else." She rose to her feet. "I'll have to figure this out some other way."

She'd gone fewer than five steps when Gold called after her. "Emma. Wait."

She did, but she didn't turn to face him. "I'm sorry," she repeated, more sad than angry now. "I suddenly realized I'm just… doing what we always do: expecting you to push everything you're dealing with to one side and solve our problems for us. You've got enough on your plate. I shouldn't have dragged you down here. I'm sorry."

Well, at least she was learning, he thought. But now, she'd also piqued his curiosity. "I must confess," he said slowly, "I'm intrigued. And, so long as I'm down here, I suppose it will do no harm if I hear you out."

Emma hesitated. Then she turned back and joined him once more on the sofa. "You could be wrong about that," she replied. "I… okay. Okay, I guess maybe I should start by saying that no matter what I do, people are going to be furious with me. And I know that as soon as I start telling you what's going on, you will be, too. So… for the record, if it were just about her, I'd have already blocked the number on my phone."

"Her?" Gold repeated blankly.

Emma took a deep breath. "Zelena."

Icy fingers seemed to close around Gold's heart. His first instinct was to tell Emma what she could do with herself and storm off before she could start telling him why she needed his help with _her_. But then he realized that based on Emma's behavior, aiding the witch didn't sit well with her either. His shoulders stiffened. His fingers whitened around the top of his cane. But his voice was steady as he responded. "Go on…"

* * *

Fate was clearly toying with him, Rumple thought. He didn't want to help the witch, not for a moment. But he knew something about growing up with an uncaring parent who'd had no use for him and foisted him off on the first sympathetic souls he could find. The pain, the rejection, the loneliness… He would have been delighted if he could arrange for Zelena to experience even a fraction of it. But the babe she was carrying didn't deserve that sort of life.

He shouldn't be thinking along those lines. The fate of the child shouldn't matter to him. Let the witch deal with her brat-to-be. People didn't always get what they deserved, after all. He was living proof...

* * *

He hadn't deserved to be born to a woman who abandoned him as an infant. Woman. Fairy. Perhaps, 'monster' wasn't too harsh a term, after all. Like mother, like son. To add insult to injury, she'd spent the last couple of centuries stealing away other infants from loving parents, never once returning to visit the one she'd deserted. One might have thought that, if she was so desperate to find another child, she would at least have given the one she'd borne and didn't care for to one set of bereaved parents in exchange. Instead, Rumple thought bitterly, not only had she not cared for him, she hadn't even tried to give him a chance at a better life.

Perhaps, she'd thought that Malcolm would be able to raise him, he thought sourly. He hadn't deserved a lazy, irresponsible, ne'er-do-well, gambling, failed swindler of a father either. A father who had traded him away for a life of eternal youth, no responsibilities… And no regrets or remorse either.

_I remember looking at you... the littlest babe. Helpless and all mine. Those big, big eyes full of tears... pulling at me... pulling away my name, my money, my time. Pulling away any hope of making my life into something better for myself. This pink, naked, squirming little larva that wanted to eat my dreams alive and never stop! Can't I be free of you?_

Rumple flinched as the memory of those words stung him afresh. A long time ago, he'd told Emma that he'd always been a difficult man to love. He'd tried to make it sound flippant, but it was the truth. His own parents hadn't wanted him. His wife had never loved him. His son had, it was true, but in his heart of hearts, Rumple hadn't been certain that such love would last. He'd seen the look on Bae's face when Hordor had told him how Rumple had acted on the battlefield. He'd seen the shame in his boy's eyes when he'd been forced to kiss the man's boots. No, once Bae learned the kind of man his father truly was, it would just be a matter of time before he turned away as well—if the Ogre War didn't swallow him first.

He'd thought that with the Dark One's power, he could prevent such a fate. Perhaps he'd staved it off, kept it at bay for longer than might otherwise have occurred. But in the end, Bae's love had been transformed into fear, resentment and horror.

And, faced with having to choose between his son's love and the dagger's power, he'd chosen the object he'd been most confident would last.

 _Had my parents given me a better life, a better chance, would I have made the same choices that brought me to this point?_ He hated when such questions reared their heads. Most of the time, he tried to banish them, but still, they would persist on intruding at times. And in over two centuries of life, there had been a number of such times.

The funny thing was, in those days, he hadn't been the Dark One. He hadn't been evil or self-serving. He'd been a simple man trying his best to be the father he'd never had, and he didn't think he'd done too terribly at it for going on fourteen years. Perhaps he hadn't had much of a life, but he'd had his son and, until the Duke began drafting children to fight in the Ogre War, he'd been happy. He hadn't deserved to be hurt and humiliated. He hadn't deserved to see his son taken for a soldier, almost certainly destined to die.

Odd how the only time that fate seemed concerned with ensuring he got what he deserved was when he traded his sniveling weakness for the power to protect those closest to him.

In a way, it was almost comforting. At least now, his life made sense. Fate _was_ giving him what he'd earned. He might rail against it or try to circumvent it, but he could still recognize the justice of it.

* * *

Rumple closed his eyes. This child of Zelena's would begin its life in much the same situation that he had: a mother who didn't want it—save as an object to flaunt before her sister. A father who would resent it for the manner in which it had been conceived. And yet, he was hard-put to claim that such a child would deserve its fate.

"…I guess that's it," Emma concluded. "I don't know what the right thing is. I'm not even sure what the lesser of the two evils is. And I guess I'm talking to you about it, because I already know that Belle and August and my parents would tell me that the baby needs its best chance. Even if it means Robin leaves Regina to come back here. Or Robin brings the baby to Storybrooke and he or she ends up looking exactly like their mother and you have to watch them walk by your shop every day. Or…"

Rumple stopped paying attention to the rest of what she was saying. The way Emma was talking, it sounded as though she truly still thought he might return. More. It sounded as though there was no doubt in her mind that he would. And, on top of that, from the way she was talking, she sounded as though the effect that the witch's child might have on his feelings was a topic worth considering.

He didn't want to help Zelena. But he couldn't tell Emma not to. It would be one thing if she truly didn't know what to do, but that wasn't the case here. Emma did know. She was simply looking for someone to persuade or dissuade her from doing so. And if he stepped up to the task…

…He was likely to seal his own fate into the bargain. This was probably a test on the savior's part: would he put the babe's interests first or his own? And if he professed to put the child first, would even that be enough, or would the savior intuit that he was only doing so because by doing so, he was, in effect, serving his own best purpose."

"…Plus," Emma was still rattling on, "I mean, we know whose kid it is, after all. We know what Zelena's like. How can we think her child would turn out any differently?"

And then, Rumple remembered something from a vision he'd seen long ago. A piece of the future, now past, that had been revealed to him shortly before he'd contrived to be placed in that magic-proof cell, where he could advise the charming royal couple and await the curse that would reunite him with Bae. There _was_ a way that he could get what he needed. And he didn't need to do anything more than encourage Emma to seek help from the people she should have been asking it from in the first place.

"I do see your dilemma, dearie," he murmured. "But I'm afraid I can't advise you properly." He sighed and affected an apologetic smile. "For several of the reasons you mentioned, I'm too close to the problem to recommend a solution. It seems," he said slowly, "that you might be better off discussing this with your parents."

Emma groaned. "I can't do that," she protested. "I mean, you know how they are. There's no way that they could even begin to understand why I'm struggling with this! Maybe you were right when you told me that I always do the right thing, but it still takes me a while before I get there. My parents just… do it. How would they even understand why I'm debating anything?"

"Oh, you never know," Rumple smiled. "They just might surprise you…"

* * *

David's hand was cold and sweaty around his cell phone. "I-I'll call you back," he said. "I need to discuss this with your mother."

Emma groaned. "Dad, no! You know she's going to run to Robin and tell him everything."

"Emma—"

"I knew calling was a mistake," Emma muttered. Then, she continued at a normal volume, "Dad, you know Mom can't keep a secret to save her life. If she just goes blurting out 'Zelena's pregnant,' like she told me Neal was alive, Regina's going to want to kill both of us and I'm not so sure I'll blame her. I mean, if you think they need to be told, then at least let me break it to them both gently. And from a distance."

"Emma," David said, "please, trust me. Your mother can keep a secret when she has to."

"Name one time."

David was silent.

"That's what I thought. Dad, you can't—"

"Emma, you have to trust me," David repeated.

"Just tell me you won't tell her."

There was a long pause. "I'm going to have to call you back," he said, ending the call on her protest.

He turned to find his wife standing in the doorway and swallowed hard. "We have to talk," he said heavily.

Snow's smile dropped. "Okay," she said, taking a few steps into the room. "What about?"

David pulled her close. "About the only secret you've ever kept…"

* * *

"Pregnant?" Belle repeated.

Emma nodded. "Yeah. I feel like I should've gone with my first instinct and not called my dad. I _knew_ it was a mistake."

"But, surely, they'll be able to deliver the news to Robin tactfully?"

Emma regarded Belle soberly for a moment. "You… really don't know my mother, do you?"

"Sorry?"

Emma sighed. "Does she know about you and Will?"

"I-I don't know," Belle said after a guilty pause. "She hasn't mentioned anything, but then neither did you until after we'd left Storybrooke. Why? You don't imagine she'd…?"

"Put it this way," Emma said flatly. "The reason Regina wanted to kill her for so many years was because when my mom was ten, Regina told her a secret. Mom was just a kid; she didn't know what would happen when she told it to Regina's mother, but…"

"What did happen?" Belle asked.

"Cora ripped out the heart of Regina's True Love and crushed it in front of her."

Belle closed her eyes. "Oh, dear. But, that was when your mother was a girl. Surely, you can't expect that she'd still—"

"During the curse," Emma went on, "my mom forgot—or-or didn't know—that she was married. And she… dated a bit." Her face was probably beet-red by now, but she went on. "And things went a little farther than they did with you and Will."

"But your father can't blame her for that!" Belle exclaimed.

"No, he doesn't. Much," Emma added with a wince, as she remembered being in earshot when her father had admitted to her mother that _he_ had been the cause of Whale's bloody lip. And Anna and Kristoff had mentioned that during the Curse of Shattered Sight, her father had brought it up again. Yes, the curse had made her parents into their worst selves… but those worst selves had still been a part of them. "But Mom told him outright. Almost as soon as they remembered who they were..."

* * *

_"We need to talk. Well, I do. I mean, you're my daughter, and… I want to talk to you. I know that we_ have _talked. But, we didn't know that we were talking. And we talked about things we probably shouldn't even have talked about—one night stands and the like."_

_Emma was positive, that Mary Margaret had forgotten that David was standing right next to her and she was wishing she could back away and cover her ears, even as he exclaimed in shock, "One night stands?"_

_Mary Margaret didn't even bat an eye. "Whale," she said quickly._

_David's shock only deepened. "_ Whale _?!"_

_It was obvious that Mary Margaret had other things on her mind. "We were cursed. That is neither here nor there…"_

* * *

Belle shook her head. "Wow."

"Yeah. Just… out with it. It was the same in Neverland. Pan told Killian that Neal was alive. Killian told me later it was one of his sadistic games." Her face was hot again and she forced herself not to mumble. "Neal and I had… well, a history. Obviously. I mean, Henry. But Neverland was right about the point when Killian was beginning to think that he and I could have a-a future. And Pan saw it. So, Pan told him Neal was alive to see whether he'd tell the rest of us. And, Killian told my dad. And my dad told my mom. And while he was debating whether it was something I needed to know right then and there, Mom just blurted the whole thing to me."

Emma shook her head. "If Dad tells Mom, he might as well be telling Leroy to run down Main Street yelling about terrible news." She sighed. "Which… kind of means that Regina's about to find out one way or another. If she hasn't already." She pulled out her phone. "I… guess I'd better bite the bullet and see if I can break it to her first."

"Regina?" Belle repeated. "Not Robin?"

"Zelena has his phone," Emma reminded her. "And if he's got email, I don't know his address." She winced. "Here's hoping that when this is over, Regina's still willing to toss the scroll back over the town line."

She hit the speed-dial and took a deep breath. "Regina? Are you sitting down? Because I kind of think you might want to be for this…"

Because she was sitting at the lone writing desk in the room with her back to her companion, she didn't notice that Belle's face had gone chalk-white. As the librarian twisted icy fingers together, she found herself wondering just how much Snow _had_ seen of her 'keeping company' with Will Scarlett. And wondering whether she had within her the courage to do what Emma was doing at this very moment, and come clean about a complicated situation before it worsened exponentially.

* * *

Regina was silent for several long minutes after Emma finished talking. Then she let out a loud sigh. "Clearly," she said in an even tone, "Fate still hasn't gotten the memo that says I've switched sides."

"Regina," Emma said, "I'm sorry. I've been wrestling with whether to tell you since I heard. But when I called my dad for advice…"

"I've had two call-waiting beeps from your mother during this conversation," Regina admitted. "I expect she'll be knocking on my door in a moment." She sucked in her breath. "Or approaching the Merry Men's camp in the woods. Keep talking; I'm going to see if I can get there first."

"Okay. I was doing some checking about the apartment, too. And it's not great. See, when Neal went to Canada, he ended up doing security work for an international firm."

"You mean, as a guard?"

Emma smiled. "No. He was hired to test office security systems by trying to break in. He was based in New York, but he did a lot of traveling across the country. And, since he wasn't always around on the first of the month, he left a bunch of post-dated checks with the landlord and that was that." She sighed. "The last one was cashed three months ago. From what Zelena told me, neither she nor Robin knew that there was a mail room and they sure weren't picking up any mail, but I'll bet that there are probably a few reminder notices stuffed inside his box."

"So… what happens, now?" Regina asked.

"Well," Emma said, "if she can't pay the rent, there'll be a hearing and, it'll take time, but eventually? They'll evict her."

Regina sighed heavily. "Despite everything, she's still my sister. And that child she's carrying doesn't deserve life on the streets. Emma," she hesitated. "If she were to make the choice you did and give the child up for adoption…?"

Emma closed her eyes. "I've been thinking about it," she admitted. "And it could be great. I mean, seriously, it could be giving her baby its best chance. I know it was for Henry. And healthy newborn babies usually get adopted right away. Only," she continued, " _I_ didn't. And a lifetime in foster homes and group homes, where you never know how long you're there for, and just when you start to think that maybe it's forever, they call your social worker and send you away…" Emma was shaking her head as she spoke. "No kid deserves that. Especially not if all she did to get that kind of life was be born to the wrong mother."

"I understand," Regina said, with none of her customary stridency in evidence. "I'm trying to get as much information as I can, because given the circumstances of conception… I don't know how Robin's going to react to the news. I'll… keep you posted."

"Regina?" Emma took a deep breath. "You know that Zelena's not the only person here who wants to come back to Storybrooke."

There was a pause. Then, quite coolly, Regina remarked, "I thought Rumple's disposition was going to be left up to the three of you."

"Yeah," Emma said, "but seeing as you've got the scroll, I guess you've got the final say."

There was another pause. "If I'd had his dagger in hand that night," Regina said slowly, "I'd never have banished him in the first place. Ordered him to stand down, yes. Report to a holding cell or to the asylum under the hospital, absolutely. But permanent exile? I don't think it would have crossed my mind. Frankly, I'm a little surprised it crossed Belle's."

"Yeah, well, sometimes people do the unexpected," she said, lowering her voice as though Belle could hear both sides of the conversation."

Regina caught on. "I hadn't realized she was in the room with you. As to the matter you just broached, if the three of you believe that he deserves a second chance, I won't oppose it. I'd say after spending over a week in close proximity to him, you're in a far better position to assess the situation than I am." She sighed. "I suppose I'd best be on my way to the forest. I'll call you later and let you know how Robin wants to proceed."

"Okay. And Regina, if Zelena weren't pregnant, I'd never have—"

"I know. But she is, and that complicates things. I'll be in touch." She ended the call and Emma set her phone down. A moment later, it rang once more. Emma looked at the call display, sighed heavily, and picked it up.

"Hi, Mom," she said, a bit too brightly. "I just got off the phone with Regina. I-I guess Dad told you what's going on."

"Yes," her mother sounded uncharacteristically subdued. "Wait. You told her?"

"Yeah, I figured it was better coming from me than to have her find out second-hand. Or third-hand. Whatever."

"Oh." Her mother's voice sounded strained. "Emma, can I call you back?"

"Huh? You called me."

"I know, but something's just come up."

Emma frowned. "Uh, o-kay, sure. I guess."

"I'm sorry. I'll call soon. I love you."

"Love you too," Emma said, with less hesitation than she might have a few months earlier. She was frowning, though, as she returned the phone to her pocket.

"Is everything all right?" Belle asked.

Emma shook her head. "With Regina, yeah. But that call from my mother just now?" She frowned again. "It was short, but weird." She sighed. "I hope everything's okay."

"Surely she'd tell you if it weren't?"

"Probably." She forced a smile. "After all, it's not like she's good at keeping secrets."

* * *

"She did the right thing," Snow said with a catch in her voice as she set the phone down. "Regina knows."

David sighed in relief. "So, we _don't_ have to dredge up the past, after all," he said.

Snow was silent.

"Snow? Please tell me you aren't still thinking about…?"

"Of course, I am," Snow said. "How can I not be? David, we all want Regina and Robin to have their best chance at a new life together, just like we wanted Emma to have her best chance of growing up Good. And we did something _terrible_ to make that best chance happen. We condemned an innocent child to who knows what kind of life. Just like Emma was about to do." She shook her head. "I was racking my brains trying to find the right way to tell her not to make the mistake we did without telling her what that mistake was—"

David seized both her hands in his and drew her close. "And now you don't have to. Because she figured out the right thing to do on her own."

Snow shook her head. "I can't. I can't do this. David, if there's one thing I know, it's that the truth always _always_ comes out in the end and when it does, it is so much worse than when it did at the start. I haven't thought about Maleficent in over thirty years, but ever since you told me about the choice Emma was facing, I haven't been able to think about anything else. David, our daughter thinks we're heroes."

"We are," David said. "Even heroes make mistakes sometimes."

"Yes, but they own up to them. Because heroes do what's right, not what's easy." She drew a shuddering breath. "We have to tell her."


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

What the hell, Rumple wondered, was it that they expected of him? At first, he'd naturally assumed that they were looking for some sort of promise of better behavior on his part, going forward. Doubtless, they'd take care to set conditions for his return, phrasing them in such a way as to avoid as many loopholes as possible, but he didn't begrudge them their suspicions. He'd earned them. Besides, he enjoyed a challenge and finding ways to work around whatever sanctions they might level on him would likely provide no small entertainment.

But days had passed and no demand had been forthcoming.

Booth's assertion that he wasn't looking to cut any deals appeared to be genuine. That was another surprise. While it was more or less accurate to state that Rumpelstiltskin couldn't resist brokering such agreements, it also bore mentioning that a deal could only be struck between a minimum of _two_ interested parties. And it wasn't as though he had nothing to offer that Booth might want. In fact, Booth had made it plain that he _did_ want to see Marco's parents restored to life, even as he'd rejected Rumple's offer.

Then… what?

Belle was keeping something from him, he knew. He assumed that it was the answers to the questions plaguing him now: What did they want of him and why wouldn't they simply ask it? But even when he'd been able to talk to her alone, away from admonishing eyes and ears, she'd remained silent on the matter.

Perhaps, Emma had given him a clue in the lobby earlier, when she'd recognized that she was about to fall back into a familiar pattern. And, as much as he'd found himself touched by her words, he wondered whether he hadn't been a bit too open about the circumstances that had prompted his recent actions. After all, if he hadn't mentioned how quick they all were to demand his help when they were in trouble and ignore him the rest of the time, perhaps they wouldn't all be evading his questions now. Perhaps they'd all agreed amongst themselves not to strike any deals, nor attempt to wring concessions or wrangle agreements from him.

Maybe... A new idea struck him. Maybe, they wanted him to offer them something without being prompted to do so. After all, they helped one another all the time without requiring anything in return.

He smiled and reached for a pen and a sheet of paper. If that was what they wanted, then he could certainly oblige…

* * *

"You can tell my sister," Regina said coolly, with just a hint of the imperious demeanor she'd affected back when Emma had first met her, "that her choices are as follows: she returns to Storybrooke, where she remains in the asylum, wearing one of Pan's cuffs until she convinces an independent panel that she's willing to at least try to turn over a new leaf, or we wire her a monthly stipend—I'll need your help to come up with a reasonable amount to tide her over while she looks for work." She paused. "I've already expunged that FBI record, so she won't have any problems applying for a job." Regina exhaled and continued wryly, "Apart from a lack of academic credentials or verifiable work experience. Somehow, I doubt that there's a great demand for usurpers, dictators, or tyrants out there."

Emma snickered at that. Then she registered what Regina had just stated. "An independent panel?" She repeated with some surprise.

Regina sighed. "She's family. This whole… business is bringing out the best and the worst of me. Right now, I'm going back and forth between having her move in with me and showing her… well, some of the support you and August told me you're trying to show Rumple now, and crushing her heart like I threatened to do weeks ago, if she didn't take the second chance I was offering then. And Robin isn't having an easy time with this either." She sighed again. "We're helping each other through this. But, under the circumstances, I'm not sure I'm comfortable deciding whether to let Zelena walk about freely. And, there's the child to think about. Robin is willing to allow Zelena supervised visits but he wants custody; Archie can help hammer out those details."

Regina took a breath. "As far as what happens if the panel decides she's fit to be released, I don't think we're likely to remove the cuff anytime soon. And, if Rumple returns, I believe we can try to work something out to minimize their mutual antagonism. Some kind of restraining order, I suppose. And if I have to use _my_ magic to protect Zelena's home, fine. Heaven knows that Rumple will be setting up his own defenses."

"Hang on," Emma was scribbling furiously. "Okay. I think I've got it all."

"Good. All of this," Regina said, "is based on Zelena agreeing that Robin will have sole custody of the child for the time being. As I mentioned, she can have supervised visits. Perhaps, at some point down the road, that arrangement can be reviewed. If Zelena wants to fight the arrangement and sue for custody, I suppose I can get King George out of his cell to represent her. I've a suspicion, though," and there was a smile in the mayor's voice now, "that if things work out the way you seem to be hoping they will with Rumple, he might not need much persuasion to serve as Robin's counsel."

Emma found herself smiling in return. "I wouldn't mention anything to him just yet," she said. "We're… really trying to avoid anything that even looks like cutting deals with him right now. But that baby isn't coming tomorrow. There's time."

"How likely would you say it is that he'll be returning with you?"

"I don't know," Emma admitted. "But it's not exactly the longshot I might have thought it would be when we drove down here in the first place."

Regina exhaled. "By the way, I haven't forgotten that once you leave New York, Zelena will have no way to get in touch with either Robin or myself. I'm getting a burner phone today; I'm not sure I want her calling my regular number nonstop. I'll give you the alternate number to pass onto her, once I've got it. I suppose a final option would be to wire a sizeable sum of money her way, wish her good luck, and hope it takes." As matter-of-fact as Regina's tone was, Emma could hear an undercurrent of worry in her friend's voice. "Hopefully, she'll see reason, though." Regina sighed again. "She's smart, but she's also proud. Not always the best mix. And I am speaking from personal experience."

"Yeah."

"Well, I think I'd best let you go. I'm going to see whether I can't dig up some of Henry's old books to share with Roland. Robin's already shared most of the bedtime stories he knows and I'm not certain I recall many more."

"Okay. I'd better get dressed; the guys are probably already downstairs and Belle just headed that way, too. I'll let you know how Zelena reacts."

"I appreciate that. We'll be in touch."

* * *

She was throwing on a sweater when her phone rang again. She saw her mother's name on the caller ID and stifled a groan. She didn't want to keep the others waiting any longer and conversations with her mother could go on for a while. As she was debating whether to take the call or let it go through to voice mail, the ringing stopped. Emma's eyebrows shot up. That was unusual. She supposed that whatever it was couldn't have been too important. Still, she couldn't get her mother's behavior on the phone last night out of her head. Something was going on and she had half a mind to call back and get to the bottom of it. Then there was a knock on the door and August called, "Emma? You almost ready?"

She pocketed her phone and grabbed her jacket. "Yeah," she said, shrugging into it. "One sec…"

* * *

"What's this?" August asked when Rumple slid the paper across the table at breakfast.

Rumple smiled. "The next time any of you lot speak to Regina, you might want to pass it along, if she hasn't yet worked out how to release the bugs from the hat."

The answering smile on August's face seemed to freeze. "I told you before," he said, "we're not—"

"I know," Rumple cut him off. "It's not a deal. It's a gift. I…" He dropped his eyes. "I don't know how much time I have left. And I don't know whether the dark deeds I've done can continue to blacken my heart, even here. But, perhaps, undoing what was done before may at least slow the process." He shook his head. "If nothing else, I know that you and the Mother Superior have a history. In light of all you've done for me, thus far, let me do this for you in exchange."

August blinked. Then he reached across the table and covered Rumple's hand with his own. "Thank you," he said warmly. "I-I know that you have a history with her, too. In light of _that_ , I really appreciate it." He unfolded the paper and looked at it for a moment, before passing it to Emma.

Rumple met his eyes and his smile grew slightly wider. He wasn't surprised that Booth hadn't immediately declared that it was time for them all to go home. He knew that the puppet was thinking it, though. After all, Rumple had just given him a gift with no cost and no strings. Surely that showed he'd learned whatever lesson they wanted him to absorb.

He wondered why they couldn't see that at this point, he was prepared to do anything, promise anything, so that he could regain access to his magic and try to heal his heart.

And if he couldn't heal it, well, once the savior found out the secret her parents had been keeping from her—and, really, it was a miracle that her mother had kept it this long—the Author was sure to get the ink he needed to change Rumple's fate after all.

He tried to suppress a surge of guilty discomfort when Emma reached over and patted his hand, even as Belle flung an arm about his shoulders and brought her cheek to his.

* * *

"Look," August said, making sure Gold was out of earshot, "all I'm saying is that maybe this is the leap of faith we've been looking for. I mean, we all know everything has a price with him. His waiving it without being asked to, or-or pressured… That's major by any definition."

They'd gone to the Met today and were currently perusing Gallery 453, one of several in the sector devoted to the art of the Middle East and Central and South Asia. Gold was examining a twelfth-century chess piece with interest several paces away, while the others affected to be intrigued by a terracotta frieze fragment as they spoke in hushed tones.

"I know," Belle said. "And I agree. Only," her expression was troubled, "I'm thinking back to what Emma told me," she glanced in Emma's direction, "after I got excited at the restaurant because he thought to tip our server. And this is more of the same: while everything may have its price, Rumple didn't ask one to help Henry's nightmares after the sleeping curse. And he didn't argue much when he healed your father." She shook her head miserably. "I want to think he's really changing his ways, this time. But even if he didn't ask anything in return this time, he must have guessed that we'd be better disposed toward bringing him home if he gave us something he knew we'd be interested in."

"I'm not so sure that's a problem," Emma commented. "I mean, is it a problem that he's trying to figure out how to get us to decide to let him come back and he's resorting to favors instead of threats or blackmail?"

"No, of course not," Belle retorted. "But is he doing this because he wants to help the fairies or just to-to bribe us?"

"It crossed my mind," August admitted. "But it's still a step in the right direction for him. Maybe that's the most we can expect after so little time." His expression turned troubled. "And… Okay, I'm worried about my father. His arthritis tends to act up when the weather turns cold. I know what I promised and I'll stick to it, but honestly? I wouldn't mind giving Gold the benefit of the doubt this time, going back with him, and hoping that if we give him a little more… support than we have before, it'll be enough."

"I hear that," Emma nodded. "I miss Henry. And my parents. But I think we should hold off a little longer, see if he's helping us because he wants to help or because he's trying to guilt us into rushing things."

August considered that for a moment and slowly nodded back.

Emma's phone vibrated then and she pulled it out of her pocket. "Speaking of my parents," she murmured. "I just got a text from my mother, asking me to call her back when I've got a few minutes to myself." She smiled apologetically. "I guess that means, 'in private'."

"Go on," August nodded. "It's about lunch time anyway. We'll finish up here and we can all meet at the cafeteria."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the three of them were seated about a rectangular table, when Emma came storming up, her face pale and her eyes furious. Without preamble, she zeroed in on Gold, demanding, "Did you _know?!_ "

"Emma?" August asked.

"What's going on?" This from Belle.

Emma ignored them. "Well?"

Gold slumped a bit in his chair. For once, there was no thought in his mind of hiding the truth, not when the truth was likely to work so well in his favor. Still, it would be helpful to know precisely how much she had learned. "I gather you've spoken with your parents."

"You know damned well I have," she snapped. "Do you know what they did?"

"I…" Gold stopped when he saw the set of Booth's jaw and read a wariness in Belle's eyes that had been absent since that day in Snug Harbor. He sighed. "Yes, I believe I do."

"You believe?" August repeated. "What's going on? Emma?"

Emma hesitated for a moment. Then she angrily flung herself down into one of vacant seats at the table. "My parents..." Emma began. She took another breath. "My parents wanted me to grow up to be good."

"I-I don't understand," Belle said. "What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with that," Emma all but snarled, "is that in order to make sure I did, they… they got some sorcerer to take my potential for Darkness and transfer it to some other…" She shook her head as though trying to dislodge a distasteful memory. "…To some other vessel," she finished. "And by 'vessel,' what my mother meant was 'baby'."

Belle's jaw dropped. "What?"

Emma grabbed a paper napkin out of the dispenser and twisted it into a tight roll. "They kidnapped Maleficent's unborn child," she snapped.

"What?" Belle repeated.

"Emma, that can't be right," August protested.

"Ask Gold," Emma shot back. "Or ask them. Maleficent laid an egg in her dragon form. My parent stole it and brought it to this sorcerer, he made the transfer and then he banished the egg to some other realm. My mother says they didn't know he was going to do it. They meant to return the egg after he'd worked the spell. But it doesn't change the fact that they…" She broke off angrily. "And you knew!" she turned to Gold.

Rumple sighed. "If you recall, you asked for my advice about a situation with more than a few parallels."

"Hang on," August said. "What's this?"

"Zelena's pregnant," Belle said quickly.

August's eyes widened. "How come I'm the last person to find _this_ out?"

"That's neither here nor there," Emma retorted. Then she remembered that her mother had used that exact turn of phrase when talking about her liaison with Whale and felt her face grow hot. "She's carrying Robin's kid. She called me because when she got her hands on that phone he chucked out the window, it still had my number in it from when Regina asked me to invite him to join us. Zelena's broke and on the verge of getting evicted. She wanted me to contact Robin and I didn't know if it was worth ruining his and Regina's happiness a second time for—"

She broke off suddenly. "For a baby that was probably going to turn out just like its mother." She rested her elbows on the table and sank her head into her hands. "Crap. That was my mother's rationalization for stealing the egg: Why not give it _my_ Darkness, if the kid was already probably 'doomed'," here, she raised her fingers into scare quotes, "to be just like Maleficent?"

"You asked my advice, savior," Gold reminded her. "I had none to give. None that you would have trusted. Had I told you to keep the witch's condition secret, you might have assumed it was because I had no interest in your doing anything that might benefit her. Had I told you to disclose it, you might have thought I was taking an opportunity to settle some other score with Regina. You mentioned that you'd come to me in part because you didn't believe that your parents could understand your struggle. I knew otherwise."

"And you didn't warn me?"

"I tried," Gold reminded her. "Would you have believed me, had I been more explicit?"

Emma's head sank lower. "No," she admitted miserably.

Gold pressed his lips together and nodded. He didn't have to say anything more. The savior's anger and disillusionment had started her down the path he needed her to take. It was entirely possible that she would continue the journey with no further assistance on his part. He might just be able to sit back...

…And let Darkness take its course.

* * *

The rest of the meal passed awkwardly. Emma left the table to order her food and, on her return, slammed the tray down and took an angry bite from a grilled cheese sandwich. Then she set it down and scowled into space. From time to time, she took another nibble or picked at her side salad, but it was clear that her thoughts were elsewhere.

After a few moments, August gestured to Rumple to follow him. Rumple did so, noting that Belle had gotten up as well. "Did you know she was going to react like this?" August asked evenly.

Rumple looked up sharply for a moment, wondering just how much Booth knew or had guessed about his agenda. Then he shook his head. "Seeing the future is a form of magic. I've none of it here. In fact," he said slowly, "I don't believe I've had a vision since I was resurrected." He hadn't missed them. The talent was unpredictable, like a window that opened at random to let in a breeze, then slammed in his face when he tried to analyze the scents it carried. The visions came upon him at odd times, never clear, never what showing what he thought they did. But this was the longest that they'd ever been absent. Perhaps the ability hadn't been able to survive his death or his return. Perhaps carrying Bae in his head had left no room for any other foreign thoughts or ideas. Or, perhaps, the power was merely dormant and would return one day.

If he lived that long.

August gave him a hard look. Then he nodded, but the suspicion didn't completely fade from his eyes. "But you knew about her parents."

"Back in our land," Rumple nodded, his tone serious, "years before either of them were born, I saw what they would one day do. I didn't see whether they would ever disclose those actions to their daughter. And no," shook his head, "I didn't know how she would react if they did. But, whether they revealed their past to her or no, I think you can understand why I thought that they would be better candidates to advise the savior than I could hope to be."

August nodded again and some more of the tension in his face eased. "I guess I can," he admitted. "But I really hope she calms down soon."

"Maybe we ought to head back to the hotel," Belle suggested. "I don't see how we can keep walking about after… this."

"Good idea, I'll ask her," August said. "Then again, maybe staying here would help take her mind off of things." Then he sighed. "No, of course it wouldn't. Yeah, let's go."

Rumple watched them turn back to the table. Emma still had more than half of her lunch on the tray before her and she seemed in no hurry to finish it. He'd done the right thing, he told himself. He hadn't tried to influence her decision. He'd turned her toward the people she should have been asking for advice in the first place. He'd told the truth. He _hadn't_ been sure whether they'd reveal the past to her. After all, they certainly hadn't acted at all guilt-stricken nigh these many years. And how had he been to know that they did feel remorse? Certainly, nobody had shown _him_ any for the conditions he'd endured in that underground cell. He wouldn't have been surprised had the royal couple been _proud_ of what they'd done.

But Emma's reaction and condemnation had been easier to predict. He stifled a sigh. He knew more than a thing or two about parental betrayal. And, if he wasn't exactly remorseful for what he'd done, he was sorry that it was this particular disillusionment that seemed to be sending the savior over the edge.

But she was heading over the edge. And that was all that mattered.

Wasn't it?

* * *

Emma didn't protest when August told her that they wanted to leave the Met early. She simply got up from the table, leaving her half-finished lunch behind, and made her way silently toward the exit. After a moment, the other three fell into step behind her.

"Are you…?" Belle asked, with some concern.

"Later," Emma said in a tone that indicated that the conversation was over. She didn't speak at all on the walk to the subway, nor on the ride back to the hotel. And her stony expression and tense posture seemed to stifle any talking that the other three might have done among themselves.

Upon their return, instead of heading for the elevator, Emma turned toward one of the arm chairs in the lobby.

"Emma?" Belle asked.

Emma shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it," she gritted. "I don't want to hear about how they thought they were doing the right thing or-or wanted to give me my best chance, or any of the other catch-phrases I've been hearing in town ever since before the curse broke. I just… need some time alone." She sat down in the chair and locked her hands around the cushioned armrests, as though daring them to try to move her.

"Okay," August said, eyeing her with concern. "But you know we're around if you change your mind."

Emma gave the slightest of nods, but her icy glare didn't show the least indication of thawing anytime soon.

* * *

Rumple tried to lose himself in the television. When that didn't work, he flipped through a brochure he'd picked up at the Met that described the various collections and some of the better-known pieces.

As much as he rejoiced that the savior was finally headed down the path he wanted, he was surprised to find himself wishing that his end could have been accomplished without causing her quite so much anguish.

Well. What was done was done and he just needed to sit back and let nature take its course. Her parents' hypocrisy would accomplish what he wanted and all he had to do was let it.

Then again, he couldn't afford to leave anything to chance.

His gaze flickered toward the desk, where Booth sat whittling away at another piece of wood. Or, perhaps it was the same piece he'd been carving earlier; Rumple hadn't been paying much attention.

He debated with himself for a few moments. The others—including the savior—were still suspicious. As soon as Emma had stormed toward them, demanding whether he'd known her parents' secret, he'd felt the tension about the table and realized how tenuous was the trust and friendship that had so recently been extended him.

He shouldn't care. Nobody ever did trust him for long, and he was hard-put to call it unfair. Still, it had been a welcome change, for as long as it had lasted.

Emma Swan had come to him for advice, she'd trusted him enough to take it, and she was paying a price that, in all honesty, he didn't think she deserved. He tried to push his regret aside. It shouldn't matter. He'd paid stiff penalties, time and again, that he didn't think _he_ deserved.

Of course, that also meant that he had a fairly good idea of what the savior was going through now. And she had been trying—over the course of the last week or so—to consider his feelings and his grievances. And abandoning her to her sorrow and anger didn't sit well with him.

Perhaps he didn't have to. Perhaps, he might yet again present an understanding ear for her troubles.

And that way, he could ensure that she continued headlong into the despair and disillusionment that would draw her deeper into darkness.

He stole quietly out of the room and made his way toward the lobby, wondering whether the savior was still there.

Booth never so much as looked up from his work.

* * *

She wasn't in the lobby. Rumple considered that she might have returned to her room, but knowing how upset she'd been, he thought it unlikely. Or rather, he suspected that the savior would be unlikely to unburden her heart to Belle now, for the same reason she hadn't done so earlier.

Rumple took a moment to consider where she might have gone. Then he made his way to the hotel's revolving door. Once out on the street, he turned left and headed for the deli.

* * *

She was there, seated alone at a table that faced the door. As Rumple entered, her face fell into weary resignation. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised you figured out I'd be here," she muttered when he reached her.

"One might suspect," Rumple returned, "that you were hoping someone would. You do know this city rather better than I. Had you truly wished to avoid us, there's a subway station just a bit farther down the street."

Emma sighed. "Point taken."

Rumple gestured to the chair that faced hers across the table. "May I?"

When Emma shrugged in response, he pulled the chair out and sat down. "What _is_ that concoction?" he asked, gesturing to the glass before her. It resembled chocolate milk, but there was a layer of foam gracing the top of the liquid. The tall clear glass it was served in, combined with the straw poking through the foam, told him that it was unlikely to be some form of cappuccino. He checked the glass again to be certain that it was neither beer nor ale, though he doubted that either would have been served with a drinking straw.

Emma's frown eased. "It's called a chocolate egg cream," she said. "Seltzer, chocolate syrup and milk. They make them in vanilla, too."

"Ah," Rumple nodded. Then his brow furrowed. "Milk," he repeated. "Not… cream?"

Emma blinked. "No," she said, sounding a bit surprised.

"And no egg either?"

Emma shook her head. "No."

"Then… I confess I'm at a loss to understand the name."

"Um…" Emma frowned again, thinking. "I… I really don't know why it's called that," she admitted. "But I don't think you tracked me here because you were looking for a new drink to try." She let out a breath. "Fine. Go ahead and tell me whatever it is you think I have to hear." She bent her head to the straw in the glass and took a sip.

Gold shook his head. "Come now, dearie," he said. "Do you honestly imagine I came to deliver a pep talk?"

Emma blinked again. "Then why did you come?" she asked with more than a little belligerence.

Gold sighed. "It's never easy," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, "when we're betrayed by those we thought we could trust. I expect I'm somewhat used to it. You, on the other hand…"

Emma laughed bitterly. "You think this is new to me? Please."

"Ah, yes," Gold said, remembering. "You and Sidney Glass did enter into that alliance against Regina some time back. At least, _you_ thought you and he were allied."

This time, Emma's laugh was slightly louder. "No, you need to go a lot further back than that. I mean, where do you want me to start?" she demanded. "The adoption that got overturned when I was three, because the family that took me in decided they wanted to have 'real' kids? The foster homes where I never fit in? The few where actually thought I might belong, until they called my social worker and shipped me off again? How about the one where my foster mother turned out to be Ingrid—who was absolutely wonderful until she got the brilliant idea to try kick-starting my magic by shoving me out into traffic and assuming my instincts would take over? Or—" She stopped. She knew more about Neal's reasons now and she didn't have to rehash that part of her life in front of his father. "Let's just say that I am _very_ used to feeling betrayed." She took a long sip of her egg cream. "I just… didn't ever expect my parents to be the ones making me feel that way."

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, even as he tried to hide his surprise. He'd known that the savior had not had an easy life. He hadn't quite realized how difficult it had been. Though, perhaps, he should have guessed. Like himself, she wasn't much given to depending on others, nor to confiding in them. When he'd met her, she'd been fiercely independent, unwilling to ask for help she couldn't be certain she'd receive, but unwilling to give up in the face of adversity. When she'd finally discovered her parents, her reaction had not been joy, but anger. It had taken a long time before she'd lowered her walls and allowed herself to love and trust them fully. And today, she'd just learned something that made her believe she couldn't.

"I suppose," he said hesitantly, "I know a bit about that." She didn't fully trust him, of course. He knew that and it didn't surprise him. But he needed her on his side. And he knew how to get and keep her there. The more the savior was focused on what the two of them had in common, the more he'd be able to influence her. She'd just discovered that the people she thought she could most count upon had been keeping a dark secret from her all this time. Rumple had a strong feeling that the way to win her to his purpose was to share those parts of his own past that mirrored hers—as honestly as he dared.

At least, that was the excuse he gave himself as he began to relate the manner in which he'd been left with two elderly spinsters, while his father purported to be off looking for work.

"Before he became Peter Pan," he said, his voice scarcely louder than a whisper, "my father's name was Malcolm…"


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

There were three empty egg cream glasses on the table and a mug of rapidly-cooling black coffee. Gold regarded the half-finished dessert sampler platter that Emma had ordered and took another slice of chocolate babka. Over the course of the afternoon, he'd learned a bit more about Emma's life than he had before and he'd shared more than a few details about his. They hadn't all revolved around Pan either.

He glanced out the window, surprised to see the daylight fading rapidly. A quick look at his wristwatch showed that he'd been here for nearly three hours. Watching him, Emma did the same and her eyebrows shot up. "I hadn't realized how late it was getting," she murmured. Her hand wavered over the platter for a moment, before it dipped down to come up with a black-and-tan cookie. "The others are probably getting worried."

Gold nodded. "I suppose you'd best call them."

"Nah, I'll just text them to go have dinner without us. Unless you're still hungry after this," she added as she dug her phone out of her pocket.

"Indeed not," Gold replied with a slight laugh. "And if I were, I daresay I'd find something with which to satiate myself here."

"Same. By the way," Emma said slowly, "from what you were telling me? I gotta say—and don't take this the wrong way, I mean, I know she was your wife and all—but if you ask me? I think Milah had a few issues."

Gold gave her a strained smile as he remembered what Hordor had said when he'd shamed him before his son. "Women do not like to be married to cowards," he returned trying to sound casual. "Or so I'm told."

"Yeah, but her way, she wouldn't have been married at all."

Gold sighed. "I rather think that would have been her preference."

"Like I said," Emma replied, "she had issues. I mean, maybe I'm biased because _I_ used to run when things got too tough. A lot," she added, "but seriously?"

Gold shook his head. "You didn't grow up in our realm. I don't believe you fully understand. To be a peasant, well. It was a difficult life. Taxes were high and if they weren't paid, then one's home could be destroyed, leaving one to beg or to starve. Whole villages could be treated thusly in lean years. And with the Ogre Wars, there were numerous lean years. The duke drafted twenty-five percent of the able-bodied men and women on his lands and they were expected to acquit themselves honorably. My failure to do so could have seen me hanged and Milah turned out of doors." His expression was troubled. "I suspect that all that spared us those fates was that I was the best spinner in a ten-league radius—at least, after the rest of the soldiers in my company were slaughtered—and that the duke was loth to exile a new mother and her infant for a crime committed by her husband." He exhaled loudly. "I suppose that he was rather enlightened, all things considered."

Emma didn't respond for a moment. Then she asked a question. "What about the rest of your village?"

Gold blinked. "I told you. They had as little to do with me as possible. They pitied Milah and Bae, though he was too young to realize any of it—"

"No," Emma shook her head. "I mean, with about a quarter of the village killed in that attack, what happened during the lean years?"

Gold snorted. "Well, the taxes had to be paid, regardless, of course. The duke accepted a tithe of labor in place of money or livestock. And since the amount was owed collectively by the village, we all had to contribute. Those who could not, or whose time to work coincided with planting or harvest and had no family at home to attend to it, nor the funds to hire others in their stead… well, they starved."

"But you didn't," Emma pointed out.

"No, I had no fields to plant, no livestock to tend to. And Milah was quite capable of handling the small vegetable garden we did have. But a spinner's work need not be dependent on the season, provided one has a good enough quantity of wool or flax. And I was able to set enough aside each year after accounts were settled that I might purchase such raw materials."

"So, you were a good provider," Emma said. "And Neal… Baelfire once told me that you were a good father, too, before you… changed."

"Yes, but—"

"Gold. I gave up Henry because I was in a crap situation and the idea of being a mother, of having to look out for more than just me—when I was sitting in juvie with no clue how I was going to keep a roof over my own head once I got out—terrified me. You tell me you're a coward with one breath and then you tell me how you brought up your son—and did a damned good job of it, despite all the strikes against you—"

"He was family."

"Yeah. And you provided for him. You provided for Milah, even after the way she treated you. Look. If you'd been killed in battle, those taxes on your village would have still been there, right?"

"I imagine so."

"And Milah would have still had to pay them?"

"Indeed," Gold replied, frowning a bit as he tried to see where her questions were leading. "Widows were supposed to receive a pension and be exempt from the _corv_ _ée_ , but it was a difficult time and such commitments weren't always honored by one's feudal lord. I… suppose it's likely that in due course, the pension would have been withheld to pay the taxes, but the stipend was never very large. Since the war dragged on for years afterwards, I don't know that the amount of the pension would have covered the taxes for long. And the _corv_ _ée_ was required of one family member per household. Bae wouldn't have had her exemption." He winced. "Were Milah to have refused to go in Bae's place, the duke's soldiers might have taken him at four; children his age were often set to working out of doors, weeding or herding geese or, perhaps, scaring off birds from the crops in the fields." His expression was troubled. "But even if her pension and Bae's work could have covered the taxes, they still would have needed something to live on. I don't know that they would have had it. Many in my village… did not."

"What happened to them?" Emma asked gently.

"Some made their way to other towns in hope of finding more lucrative work. I daresay several did manage to find some, but many others returned more broken than when they'd left, hoping that conditions had improved enough for family to take them in. But conditions went from bad to worse and families could not always cope. Many tried regardless."

"But you spared yours that."

Gold nodded, a faint smile gracing his face. Lame and coward though he'd been, he had done that much.

"You saved your wife and son from begging in the streets. And from what you're saying, the people they'd have been begging from didn't have much for themselves, let alone anyone else."

"I…" He'd never looked at matters in this light before.

"Gold. Listen to me. We can debate till we're both hungry enough again to finish this platter as to whether you should have fought. And maybe you should have, I don't know. Maybe you would have been the sole survivor. I mean, stranger things have happened. Maybe you would have saved your battalion or-or your company—I'm just saying!" she snapped, when Gold snorted again. "But if I were Milah? I'd have been glad that you were back in one piece, no matter how you'd got there. And if I weren't? I think before I blamed _you_ for being a coward, I'd have taken a good look in the mirror and then had the guts to tell you to your face when I was leaving."

She meant it, he realized. The savior wasn't trying to butter him up with false praise and meaningless platitudes. She meant every word she was saying. His vision blurred and he felt his lips twist as he hastily got up, pushing his chair back from the table. "E-excuse me," he choked, fumbling for his cane and stumbling as he tried to beat a hasty retreat to the men's room before his emotions broke through completely.

* * *

He practically flung himself into the stall and bolted the door behind him. What the hell was going on? What was the matter—apart from the obvious—with him? He'd come here to learn the savior's secrets, to better understand what was going through her mind and encourage her anger against those who had held—and shattered—her trust. He'd thought that opening up to her would be the best way to put her at her ease and ensure that she would be comfortable sharing her feelings. He hadn't expected the reverse to also hold true.

And to exacerbate matters, instead of wallowing in her righteous fury and disillusionment, once she'd heard what he had to say, she'd put aside her anguish and rage and pulled herself together for him. For him. And now, he meant to repay her friendship and understanding by betraying her in the worst way possible? He was practically beside himself with consternation.

And then, that particular turn of phrase became more literal than figurative.

 _Come now_ , a merry voice chortled in his mind's ear. _You aren't about to go soft, just because someone loaned you a compassionate ear, are you?_

Of course he wasn't. The savior _would_ go dark. He'd see to it.

 _Good._ An edge of menace tainted the imp's good humor. _Because you know what's at stake, don't you, dearie?_ The voice giggled madly. _If you want to live, you must ensure that the lovely Emma Swan returns to Storybrooke with a heart as dark as her dear mother's hair!_

There was another giggle and the voice was gone. Rumple looked down at his hands and found that they were shaking. The night he'd become the Dark One, he'd encountered all who had borne that mantel before him and learned what each one had to teach him. All of them—from Nimue to Gorgon the Invincible… Why, even old Zoso had had some knowledge to impart. But over time, those voices had faded to an indistinct murmur and it was his own voice, the one which he had affected back in his own land, that counseled him now.

And it was quite correct. If Emma didn't turn dark, then he would be dead in short order. He hadn't forgotten.

But all the same, something about the conversation he'd just had bothered him. Something he could almost put his finger on.

The imp started giggling again and Rumple instinctively clapped his hands to his ears and screwed his eyes shut, as though either could have any effect on a voice that dwelled inside him. Sometimes it lay dormant. Sometimes it reared up and made its presence felt. But it was there constantly, whispering, awakening him to his potential, training him, making suggestions, cheering him on… He wasn't sure whether it had even left him during the twenty-eight years of the Dark Curse, though of course, he hadn't recognized it for what it was then. It had simply been a part of him that, in the haze and fog of the curse, he'd believed had always been there.

_"All the voices in my head will be silent when I'm…"_

His eyes grew wide as a new thought struck him, a thought so dangerous that he instinctively tried to hide it away from the imp and the other voices that murmured in the Dark. Foolish, he knew. Darkness was a part of him, now. The greatest part, in fact. He could hide _in_ it, but there was no hiding _from_ it. He tried to dismiss the thought, but it would not be banished.

_If I return to Storybrooke, and Emma's soul hasn't darkened, then I will die. Everything left in me that hasn't yet succumbed to my baser nature will be consumed and the Dark One in me will run unchecked. And now, I've just had a conversation with the raw embodiment of that same Dark One, in which it has urged me to regain my focus and complete my task._

_But… why would that be something that the Dark One desires?_

An answer suggested itself readily enough, but he pushed it aside. He could be wrong. He might be missing some crucial piece of the puzzle. And for now, he didn't dare ponder the possibilities too deeply lest he alert those other voices in his head.

Or perhaps, he was simply too afraid to accept the truth when he recognized it.

He slammed his fist against the stall's metal wall with a cry of frustration and was greeted by a startled, "Hey, Mac? You okay in there?"

He hadn't heard anyone else come in. "Quite alright," he lied immediately. "I… slipped."

There was a pause. Then the voice continued, "You oughta complain to management. They're supposed to put up signs if the floor's wet."

Rumple took a breath. "Thank you," he managed. "I believe I shall."

He waited until he heard the door open and shut once more, and retreating footsteps growing fainter as they moved down the corridor outside the bathroom, before he cautiously emerged from the stall.

* * *

Emma was smothering a yawn when Rumple made his way back to the table. She gave him a weary smile as he sat down. "Um… at the museum, before? If I made it sound like I was blaming you, I'm sorry. After my mother told me what she and my father had done, I… said a few things on the phone it's probably good Henry didn't overhear and I hung up. And," her smile grew pained, "when I got to the cafeteria, I was still seething and I guess I took it out on you."

Rumple's eyebrows shot up and he reached for the now-quite-cold coffee cup and took a sip. "Well," he allowed, "I suppose I can understand why you might have suspected my involvement, but I assure you, dearie, I had none."

"I know," Emma said, "but I still should have asked, not accused." She shook her head. "This has been one hell of a day."

"It has indeed," Rumple nodded.

"Uh… look, I'm probably going to grab something here in case I get hungry later and then head back to the hotel. I want to check in with Regina. Do you want anything?"

Gold was about to demur, but he realized that it wasn't even six o'clock. True, the others wouldn't be ready to leave for the restaurant for at least another ninety minutes, but he suspected that if hunger were to strike, it would strike later than that. The deli's menu was printed on its placemats and he pushed his plate aside to peruse it. "A pity that our rooms have neither ovens nor refrigerators," he remarked. "I don't recognize some of these dishes. Is there anything here you suggest that would be safe to keep at room temperature?"

Emma scanned her own placemat. "Have you ever had a knish?" she asked. When Gold shook his head, she smiled. "They are better warm, but they'll keep at room temp. They've got four varieties. How about I get one of each and we can divvy them up any way you like."

Gold nodded, glad that his 'curse' memories were obligingly explaining what it was that she was recommending they order. "That would be acceptable."

"Okay!" Emma said brightly. "Hey. Gold? Thanks."

Gold blinked in confusion. "You're thanking me? For what?"

Emma gave him a sad smile. "Letting me vent," she said. "And just… listening without trying to tell me what to do."

"I don't need to do that, dearie," Gold replied with a slight snort. "I told you before. You always do the right thing. Always. Even when you don't know quite what that is."

"Yeah, well this is another one of those times," Emma admitted. "But thanks."

Gold's lips twitched upwards in a faint smile, but Emma wasn't done yet. "Sometimes, I don't feel much like a-a hero or-or a savior," she admitted. "I mean, I take these last couple of years on the one hand and then I balance them against everyone in my past telling me to stop acting like I was something special when my own parents chucked me on the side of a highway—or at least that was what I believed then. Telling me I was nothing. And no matter how hard I tried to believe they were wrong, sometimes I couldn't help believing it a little.

"And I can't say stuff like this to the others," she added, meeting his gaze levelly.

"I daresay Booth might understand, given the circumstances under which he grew up," Gold pointed out with a faint smile.

Emma sighed. "Maybe. But I think he's still trying to… like it said in that book the old guy gave him, 'Make sure the savior believes'. For the record," she took another breath and let it out, "I still love my parents and I know that _they_ thought that they were doing the right thing, trying to give me my best chance," she rolled her eyes, "and everything else August would probably remind me about if he were here. And it all happened so long ago that it probably shouldn't matter anymore. I mean, what's done is done and I know they regret it. But I've only just found out and it matters to me and I'm… not ready to leave it all in the past and move on. Not yet."

"Ah," Gold nodded. "And you don't believe that Booth would understand that."

"No, I'm pretty sure he would. But if I told him all of this, he'd try to tell me how to fix it when all I want to do is… is talk about what I'm feeling. I don't want anyone to solve my problems for me or tell me what to do; I just want someone to hear what I have to say." She exhaled once more. "So, thanks for listening. Seriously."

Gold pressed his lips together and nodded again. For several long moments, he said nothing, directing his gaze at his placemat, where a small piece of the babka had dropped. The server returned to check on them and Emma asked for the check and the four knishes they'd discussed. When the young woman nodded and left to prepare the items, Gold took a deep breath.

"I… I should like to thank you as well. For giving me a perspective on my past that truly had never occurred to me until today." He lifted his eyes hesitantly to meet Emma's and felt himself relax when she smiled and reached across the table to pat his hand.

"Just calling it like I see it," she murmured. She eyed the remains of the dessert platter and sighed. "I guess we'd better get these boxed up, too. We can always share them with the others."

"Indeed," Gold said, with a smile that was—for once—completely devoid of its customary mocking edge.

* * *

Emma thought Belle would never leave. It was clear that the librarian was worried about her, but she wasn't probing for details, at least, not yet.

"I… uh… think we're probably going to go to the deli tonight," Belle said finally. "If you and Rumple do decide to join us, we'll be close by."

The last place Emma wanted to go now was back to the deli. She managed a smile. "Thanks, but I was there all afternoon and I got stuff to go. Oh," she waved to a cardboard box on the desk. "If you are going there, don't order the dessert sampler. I brought half of it back with me. Well. We ate half at the deli. This is half of the leftovers. Gold has the rest."

"We?" Belle repeated. "Rumple was with you?"

"Not planned," Emma sighed. "I just wanted a change of scenery. He found me there."

"And you talked to him about…?"

"Not really," Emma replied. "More like listened. Which," she sighed again, "was probably a good thing. It got me out of my own head a little." She gave Belle an apologetic smile. "I still don't feel up to discussing it with you, not right now. Maybe later, or tomorrow, or… some time." She gestured to the box again. "The rugelach are great, by the way. I'm just too stuffed to eat them."

"I don't even know what they are," Belle murmured.

"Save room for dessert and you can find out later." Seeing Belle hesitate, she waved her friend off with a smile. "Go, go! I'm okay. Seriously."

Belle's answering smile was uncertain, but she got her coat out of the closet and bid Emma goodbye. Emma waited fifteen minutes to make sure that Belle wasn't coming back for something she'd forgotten. Then she called Regina.

* * *

Regina had gotten her new burner phone and she gave the number to Emma with instructions not to use it. "The only person I expect to be calling it regularly is Zelena and I don't mean to check the messages until I'm prepared."

"Would the preparations involve cider?" Emma asked dryly.

The sound Regina made wasn't quite a chuckle, but it was close. "There's a thought. However, I think it best to be in full possession of my faculties when dealing with her."

"Right," Emma agreed. She took a breath. "I guess you heard."

"Yes," Regina said, her tone a bit more modulated than usual. "I'm having a hard time believing it myself."

Emma sighed. "All this time, all these years…"

"I know. She actually kept a secret. It's… really almost miraculous."

Emma made a disgusted sound, but against her will, her lips pulled into a smile. A guffaw escaped them, then a full laugh. And then, she realized that Regina was laughing as well, albeit with a good deal more dignity than Emma was. She didn't think she'd ever heard the mayor laugh before. After a moment, though, she sobered.

"Hey. I know Maleficent was your friend. I'm sorry."

Regina sighed. "Your parents weren't the ones who imprisoned her under the clock tower in her dragon form. That was me, friend or not."

She knew that. "It was a long time ago. You were different then."

"So were your parents."

"The difference is," Emma said, "you own it. You've never pretended that you were some… some paragon of virtue. Once the storybook showed me the truth, you were never anything less than honest about who you were. My parents weren't. They said they were heroes."

"Yes, well heroes can still screw up royally," Regina pointed out. She hesitated. "You know, it wasn't such a long time ago that your mother gave me some advice. She told me that I had to believe that I still had a chance at forgiveness, that I could hope for a return to grace. I didn't realize it at the time, but she wasn't just talking about me; she meant herself, as well. Emma, she's been trying to atone for her actions for a long time."

"Fine. Then _you_ forgive her. I… I can't. Not now."

"And yet, you expect everyone to forgive Rumple."

"No," Emma countered. "I'm just hoping that if me, Belle, and August can see that he's trying to change for the better, that if we bring him back to town with us, everyone gives him another chance to prove it. And if anyone throws a welcome back potluck, this time, it would really be great if nobody suggested he'd poisoned the knishes."

"The what?"

"The… the… tacos or the frittata or… or… whatever the hell he shows up with." If he showed up with anything. Did Gold even cook? Or did he just snap his fingers and have food magically appear? She was getting ahead of herself. She didn't even know if he was going back to Storybrooke with them. Until she did, there was no point in speculating about whether there was going to be a celebration, or whether Gold would be invited, or if he'd even show up, much less bring anything.

Regina let out a long breath. Then, in a more matter-of-fact tone than she'd been using previously, she changed the subject. "Have you sounded Zelena out about her options?"

"No," Emma admitted. "Things have been… _I've_ been a little nuts since my mother's phone call. I can call her when I get off with you."

"All right. If she agrees to return to Storybrooke, your father and I can be back in New York the next day, barring any unforeseen circumstances."

"My father?"

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable driving six hours there and six hours back. If I were to need someone to take over, well, Robin doesn't have a license and your father _is_ co-sheriff. Or would you prefer I let Henry behind the wheel again?"

Emma scowled at the wall she was facing. "Fine. I'll call you back later and let you know what she decides."

"Fine. Meanwhile, I'll check Rumple's spell out and make sure it does what he's claiming. If it does, you can thank him for me—if I don't see him when I come in."

" _If_ you come in."

"If there's one thing I'm learning through my friendship with your parents, it's that a little hope is seldom out of place. I'll wait for your call."

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin found himself half-wishing that he'd gone with Belle and Booth after all. He wasn't hungry, but there was a question he needed to ask Belle and he knew that the moment he brought the subject up, her suspicions would be aroused. He couldn't blame her, not in light of her feelings on the matter, but he didn't want to upset her unduly and he knew that with Booth present, she might be able to keep her temper in check long enough to hear the reason for his question.

If his guess was right, he didn't have much time left. And if he could furnish incontrovertible proof of his condition, then perhaps all of these mind-games could cease and they could all go home together.

He'd given them the key to releasing the annoying little insects from the hat. What more did they want of him anyway? Was the price of his return so dear that they couldn't even bear to name it?

Perhaps this _was_ all a plan to make his last days pleasant and they'd never had any intention of driving back with him.

_Emma had implied otherwise._

Perhaps she was a better liar than he'd thought. Or perhaps the town had voted against the proposal and her hands were tied.

No. He rejected the notion almost out of hand. The town could well have voted that he should remain without. The savior was marginally better at keeping secrets than her mother. But he'd never known her to string people along, dangling hope like a carrot before a starving horse, only to pull it back at the last moment. And, while he might not possess her so-called superpower, he was quite adept at piecing together the clues that told him when he was being lied to.

He couldn't let himself get worked up. The doctors in this world might not know the truth of his heart condition, but stress and agitation couldn't be good for it. He reached into his pocket. There was still a bit left of the money Booth had advanced him the other day. Perhaps it would suffice for a cup of tea from that vending machine the puppet had discovered down the hall.

* * *

Emma's hand wrapped around her phone and squeezed it tightly. She half-wished that she could crush it; she couldn't call Regina from a broken phone. If she couldn't call Regina, then Regina wouldn't know to come back here. If Regina didn't know to come back here, then Emma wouldn't have to face her father before she was ready to. She would have asked the mayor to bring someone else. Anyone else—well, anyone besides her mother—but she had a feeling that Regina would tell her that she was acting like a spoiled child and to get over it.

Maybe she was. It wasn't like she'd ever _been_ spoiled as a child. Was it really that terrible if she stayed angry for a little bit longer?

Somehow, she had the feeling that the answer to that question was a resounding 'yes', but at the moment, she didn't much care.

She glowered at the phone. "It's just for an hour or so," she told herself fiercely. "I meet them, we go to the apartment, they collect Zelena and they go back. It's not like there'd be time for a lot of daddy-daughter bonding time anyway." And Regina was waiting for her call.

With a sigh, she hit the speed-dial. "Hey," she said when the mayor answered. "Zelena's agreed to your offer. Guess that means I'll see you tomorrow."


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

The first thing Belle noticed when she came back from dinner was the troubled look on Emma's face. She gave her a sympathetic smile. "How are you bearing up?" she asked.

Emma sighed. "I'm all right, I guess. But I've had some news from home that you aren't going to like."

Belle's smile fell away. "Tell me."

"Okay," Emma picked up the pen from the writing desk and started fiddling with it. "Well, Regina was going to come down here tomorrow with my father to get Zelena, but there's going to be a delay."

Belle blinked. "Uh… okay," she said.

Emma took another breath. "The reason for the delay is that there's been a-a series of burglaries in town over the last week. The Three Bears' Spa. The Miata dealership." She paused for a beat before adding, "Gold's shop." As Belle's eyes widened, Emma went kept talking. "Regina said there was an attempt on his house, too, but it looks as though the thief triggered some kind of defense system. She didn't say whether it was magical, so don't ask me," she added.

Belle's jaw was hanging open. "I-I'll have to tell Rumple," she said.

"Yeah, but that's not all." Emma got up from the desk and placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. My father isn't leaving town until he's got the guy in custody. It shouldn't take too much longer. Apparently my mother is helping track him down. And… Robin."

"Robin?"

Emma let out a breath. "Regina thinks it's good for him to get his mind off the whole… finding out he wasn't actually sleeping with his wife business, so there's that. But the fact that the thief is a," her hand tightened on Belle's shoulder, "former member of his band means he's taking this a little personally."

Belle's eyes flew open wide and she clapped a hand to her mouth. "Will?" she whispered.

"Yeah. It might not mean anything beyond his knowing that Gold was out of town indefinitely and thinking that it might be worth the risk to…"

"To rob the shop," Belle finished. Her eyes hardened and she shrugged Emma's hand off her shoulder. "Well. I have to say I'm almost sorry we broke things off before I came here."

Emma blinked. "What?"

Belle nodded and began to unfasten her coat with short, jerky motions. "It means I can't have the satisfaction of doing it now!" she snapped. "How could he—how could I— _What_ on _Earth_ did I ever see in him?" She hung up the coat in the closet and groaned when it slipped of the hanger and landed in a crumpled heap. She bent down to pick it up, but instead of rising again, she sank to the floor and held the coat to her chest.

"Hey. Belle. Hey." Emma stooped down and took hold of her arm. "Hey, you okay?"

"What do you think?" the librarian demanded vehemently.

Emma nodded and she felt her face grow warm. "Sorry. Stupid question. Uh… you want to talk?"

Belle shook her head.

"Anything else I can do?"

Wordlessly, Belle held out her coat. "If you wouldn't mind…?"

Emma nodded again. "No problem. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?"

Belle raised her head slightly and dipped it once in acknowledgment. Emma released her, took the coat, and hung it back up carefully. "Okay."

* * *

So. She'd failed with Will also. True, he'd told her as much when they'd parted, but somehow, she'd thought— _hoped_ —that some of her influence might rub off. She remembered what Emma had said about Hook having changed during the year in the Enchanted Forest. She'd heard something along those lines from one of his crew, a man named Bill Jukes who had been advising Snow and David on surface to air attack strategies, when it had appeared as though they might need to battle Zelena's flying monkeys, back in the weeks before anyone had thought to re-cast the Dark Curse.

"Eh," Jukes had shrugged, divesting the fruit bowl on the council table of a single apricot and deftly slicing it in two with a thin-bladed knife, "Lost boys… Flying monkeys… If they're swooping from above I imagine you'd deal with them both the same." He'd offered one half of the fruit to the blue macaw on his shoulder with an oddly tender expression. Then he'd seemed to recall where he was then and ducked his head a bit nervously. "Uh… begging yer majesties' pardons…"

After the council session, Belle had gone for a walk in the palace garden and happened on Jukes sitting on a stone bench. The macaw was standing beside him, delicately eating sunflower seeds out of the pirate's hand. She'd smiled and—more for politeness's sake than any real interest—asked after his captain.

"Well, my lady," Jukes had returned, "you'll forgive me if I tell you the answer plain. I've no hand for how you nobility talk, taking ten sentences to say what takes but one. Begging your pardon, but if you're asking because you've set your cap or garter or whatever 't'is you lot set for any'un, you'd be happier finding another. The captain has no more interest in women, saving the one he left behind, than Azure here—he smiled at the macaw—does charcoal sketching."

And Belle had flushed and informed him that she'd been inquiring after the health of an old friend, nothing more. Even so, she hadn't been able to help feeling surprised by his words. Captain Hook's exploits had been legendary in the realm before he'd crossed over to Neverland. He'd had quite the reputation—for seamanship, for roguish charm, and for conquests—not all of which were of the military variety. Either that last reputation had been much exaggerated, or Emma had truly wrought a difference in him.

While _she_ didn't seem able to change anyone. _I'll bet Will even stopped using his salad fork_ , she thought bitterly. _I'll bet…_

Betting. She hadn't wagered so much as a copper penny since her brief interlude as Lacey, before Will had persuaded her to return to the Rabbit Hole for a friendly game of pool. It had been awkward and uncomfortable and she'd told herself that it was because she didn't belong there—difficult to believe when the barkeep and several patrons had greeted her as long-lost companion. But Will had seemed to understand. He'd gotten her a drink to steady her nerves and persuaded her to watch some of the other players. And when he'd placed a friendly wager on one, she'd felt almost duty-bound to back the other.

_It's happened again. First I lose my way trying to help Rumple find his and then I stumble once more, trying to set Will on his feet._ What was wrong with her? What could she have done differently?

No. None of this was her fault. It was all Will's. And she hoped David caught him quickly and locked him up for a good long time…

Her eyes opened wide. What she was feeling now was a fury every bit as overpowering as the one she'd felt the night she'd banished Rumple. And on the heels that realization came another. Banishing Rumple had never been about protecting the town from his murderous impulses or acting for the greater good. It had all been about wanting to prove that she could be a hero. It had been about feeling like a fool. It had been about rage and pain and wanting to hurt back.

_When I thought he'd chosen power over me, I felt as though he'd betrayed me. So I took the dagger—the real dagger—the one he'd lied to me and told me he could trust me with… and I used it to betray him. And then_ , her blood suddenly ran cold, _isn't that why I took up with Will in the first place? Truly? Because that was also a betrayal and I'm hard-put now to see which one was worse._

Emma was watching the television, trying to give her some space and Belle appreciated it. But at this moment, she really needed to be alone somewhere where she could think and rage and have a good cry if she needed it. That eliminated both the lobby and the deli. After a moment, Belle got up, grabbed her bathrobe and a towel, and headed for the bathroom. Once the door was bolted behind her, she turned on the faucet and the shower full blast. Then, fully dressed, she sat on the toilet and let her emotions take over.

When she emerged a half-hour later in her robe, she was already halfway across the room when she realized that her hair was bone-dry. She hoped Emma wouldn't notice. And maybe she didn't, for at least she didn't comment on it.

* * *

Belle was almost ready to turn out the light when Emma cleared her throat. Resigned, Belle faced her prepared to point out that Emma wasn't the only one who didn't have to discuss things she didn't want to.

"I had another call from Regina," Emma said. "Actually," she sighed, "my father texted me a couple of times and when I didn't respond, he got her to phone me instead."

"I see," Belle said, though she really didn't.

"It's about the burglary at the shop. We need to know what was taken; Will could have walked off with something really dangerous."

Belle nodded. "I-I know the inventory that was out for sale. There'd be nothing dangerous about that. But," she admitted, "I never did go through what Rumple had in the back room. He-he never liked me examining what was there." She felt an angry flush come to her cheeks as she remembered that the gauntlet had been stashed away atop one of the wardrobes in that part of the shop and wondered what other secrets might still be hidden there now.

"That's what I figured," Emma said. "You want to break it to him or should I?"

Belle hesitated. "If his condition is as bad as he's telling us," Belle ventured, "do you think the shock might… might…?"

"I don't know," Emma replied. "But if Will ran out with some magical equivalent of an H-bomb and it were to go off, there might not be a Storybrooke to go back to."

"Surely Rumple wouldn't have anything like that!" Belle exclaimed.

"That you know of."

"And I'm sure he wouldn't remember _everything_ he kept back there."

"No, but he'd probably remember the deadly stuff; wouldn't you?"

"Emma," Belle whispered, "if he finds out, I-I don't know what he'd do to Will…"

"Yeah," Emma nodded. "I've seen his temper before when… when he was robbed during the First Curse," she finished quickly, hoping Belle wouldn't ask who the thief had been on that occasion. "Okay. Look, I'm still the sheriff. I still need to take a statement. I'll… text my dad to forward me photos of the crime scene. Maybe something will jog Gold's memory. I'll leave Will's name out of it for now. But Belle, sooner or later, the truth _is_ going to come out. About everything." She made a face. "Even if it takes thirty years before the details leak, it won't stay hidden forever."

Belle felt tears burn her eyes and start to overflow down her cheeks. Emma shook her head. "That's not going to help."

"I know that!" Belle snapped. "It's not like I can stop!"

"Well, try," Emma shot back. "Because one thing I'm starting to realize is that we _all_ screw up. What messes things up more is when we try to bury the truth and hope nobody finds it. Me with Neal being Henry's dad. Gold with the gauntlet and the fake dagger." She took another breath and then, added quietly, "My parents with Maleficent. Do you really want to add your name to that list, Belle?"

Belle shook her head. "Are-are you going to tell him?"

Emma sighed. "About the shop, yes. About you and Will… I don't want to, but if he asks me point-blank if I have any idea about Will's motives… he'll know if I don't tell him everything. Seriously, Belle, the longer you put it off the worse it's going to be."

"And if I tell him and the shock is too much? Do you want that on your conscience?"

"Would you tell him if you knew that shock wouldn't have any affect whatsoever on his heart?"

"But I don't know!"

"If you did?"

"I…" Belle remembered Emma's superpower. "I… I don't have to answer that."

Emma shook her head. "You just did." She turned her back angrily. "Work this out before fate does it for you, Belle. I'm going to text my dad. Actually, on second thought…" She took a deep breath. Then she squared her shoulders, pulled out her phone, and hit the speed-dial.

"Hi, Dad? I-yeah, I _am_ still angry, but Regina told me why you've been calling and I guess we've got something more important to deal with. Did you take any photos of the shop's interior? I'm going to need them…"

* * *

The knock on the hotel room door startled both men. August pushed his chair back from the desk, but Rumple was already reaching for his cane. "I have it," he murmured, taking a moment to straighten his tie and relieved that he hadn't yet begun getting ready for bed. He opened the door to Belle and Emma, both wearing serious expressions. He moved aside wordlessly to allow them inside.

"I assume something's gone amiss," he said, once they were inside. "And since it's unlikely that any of us have done something that would warrant our expulsion from this establishment, one can only think that it concerns Storybrooke." He didn't try to hide his bitterness as he rapped out, "It would appear that even if my person is not permitted within the town limits, my knowledge is still valuable?"

Both women winced. "Gold…" Emma began.

"Rumple," Belle interrupted. "I… I think you'd best sit down."

"What? Why?" he demanded.

"What's going on?" August cut in.

Emma took another breath. "Belle's right. And so are you. There's news from home and it's not good. And you need to sit down for it."

The angry glint in Gold's eyes seemed to soften and melt into the brown. "Why?" he asked, more quietly as he made his way back to the bed and sat down. "What's happened?"

For answer, Belle sat down beside him and took his hand in hers. Emma sat on his other side. "I… guess you probably want me to just say it," she murmured. "The shop's been robbed."

Gold gaped at her.

"It's not the only place," Emma continued. "There've been a bunch of burglaries in the last week or so. My father sent pictures. He's hoping you can help identify what's missing. Especially if it's magical."

Gold all but snatched the phone away from her and thumbed through the photographs, his face going quite pale.

"Rumple, are you…?"

He sucked in his breath. "Well," he said, "I imagine we know who's responsible."

"W-we do?" Belle asked, her eyes darting toward Emma's, questioning.

"A burglary that occurs right after a known thief returns to Storybrooke?" A note of controlled anger crept into his voice as he continued. "A known thief who tried to rob me in the past as well? And," he added, "one who is currently… involved with the person who instigated a burglary at my home some years back?" He turned to Emma.

"This cupboard," he said, his finger pointing toward one behind the shop counter, its door half ajar in the photo. "I…" He looked to Belle. "The cup was inside it." He turned back to Emma. "Can you find out…?"

Emma clasped his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm on it." No need to ask which cup he was talking about.

Gold was still frowning as he continued looking at the photographs but, Emma realized, there was less fury and more confusion in his eyes than there had been a moment earlier. "I don't understand," he murmured.

"Gold?"

He looked up. "Robin Hood may have tried to rob me in the past, but had I not caught him in the act, he might well have escaped undetected. He's good at covering his tracks, whether in a forest or a home. And this," he tabbed slowly back through the photos once more, "this is not only sloppy, it's malicious. If Robin Hood held a grudge this strong against me, for whatever reason, I doubt he would have arranged for me to be taken to hospital after my collapse _and_ taken it on himself to procure the elixir that temporarily healed me. This," he gestured toward the phone, "doesn't fit." He frowned. "The only time I saw work like this was…"

Emma gave him a startled look. Then she nodded slowly and held out her hand for her phone. "I'll call him," she said, giving Belle a hard look. "If Killian knows anything about this, I'll…"

Belle took a deep breath. "Rumple? C-could I please talk to you alone?"

Emma eyed Belle searchingly. It wasn't until the librarian nodded slowly that Emma jerked her head toward the door. "Come on, August," she said, as Gold passed her phone back to her. "Let's give them some privacy."

* * *

"All right," August said as he followed Emma into the other room and she pulled the door closed behind them. "What am I missing? Because even if I still had a wooden head, I think I'd know that there's a lot more going on over there than you're telling me."

Emma hesitated. "I think it's a little premature to get into it," she said.

August narrowed his eyes. "Just how many more secrets are you keeping? Emma… this isn't like you."

"Funny," Emma snapped, "until today, I would've said it wasn't like my mother either. Guess people are full of surprises."

"And that doesn't sound like you either."

Emma turned away angrily. "Look. I know what you're worried about, but what's going on in the other room right now doesn't have anything to do with it."

"Then why won't you tell me what's going on?"

She spun back to face him. "Because it's something I wish I didn't know and it's nothing I need to spread around. It's not any of my business, much less yours, okay?"

August took a step toward her. "Emma?" he asked gently.

She shook her head. "Could you just… trust me on this? Please? This isn't remotely connected with what you're worried about."

August was silent for a moment. Then, "I do trust you. A hell of a lot more than I trust Gold. But ever since we've gotten here, you've been…"

"Less than open?" Emma smiled mirthlessly. "Looks like aging up didn't give you back all your memories if you think _that's_ new."

August's answering smile was a touch sheepish. "I haven't forgotten," he admitted. "But until now," his expression turned serious, "you've mostly kept your walls up to protect yourself. You may not have been the most touchy-feely person I've known, but you've never been this… secretive."

"If it helps," Emma sighed, "I don't like it either. But… let's just say that Belle told me something in confidence that she needs to tell Gold. I _think_ that's what she's doing right now. But if I'm wrong…" She took another breath. "Look. I didn't tell you about Zelena because I knew you'd give me all the arguments for informing Regina and Robin and I wanted to hear from someone who… who'd be thinking about the other side of the equation."

"You mean, how Zelena carrying Robin's kid would impact Robin's relationship with Regina," August said slowly. "Yeah, that's a mess and a half right there, I admit."

"I guess I was worried that you'd tell me to do _the_ right thing, like there was only one. I needed someone who'd help me see which was the lesser of the two evils."

"So, Gold told you to tell Regina."

"No," Emma shook her head. "He listened to me when I went over the arguments I'd been hashing out and then he told me he wasn't the right person to advise me and suggested I call my parents."

August's frown deepened. "I guess the real question is, whether he gave you that advice because _he_ thought it was the right thing to do, or because he was hoping they'd tell you what they'd done and banking on you to…"

"No," Emma corrected him. "The real question is whether intent means anything when the results still add up to people getting hurt. And sometimes there's… just no way to avoid it."

She took another breath. "And I think this is about to be one of those times," she added grimly. "Because as much as I don't want to think that Killian might have been…" she shook her head, "Gold's right. He's done this before. I need to know he hasn't done it again." Her phone was still in her hand. She opened it and hit a speed-dial button.

"Wait, what?" August asked. "Emma, what do you think he's done?"

Emma didn't answer. "Killian?" she spoke into the mouthpiece. "The robbery at Gold's shop. Was Will Scarlet acting alone?" Whatever the response was, August could tell that Emma didn't like it. "I've seen his work before. In and out and the less mess the better. That doesn't jibe with the photos my dad sent me. And I'm trying to think of who'd have had either a grudge against Gold or some other reason to trash the place, plus the stones to actually do it. Right now, there are two names on my short-list, both people who've pulled something like this before. So I'm asking you, Killian. Is there a name I need to strike? Or is there another one you think I should add?"

August watched as Emma's jaw hardened and a deep furrow appeared between her eyebrows. "It's not what it looks like?" she snapped. "Then just what the _hell_ is it?!"

* * *

Belle had never felt this small before. Not when she'd abandoned Anna for that memory crystal that the rock troll had given her. Not when she'd forced—or thought she'd forced—Rumple to take her to Ingrid's lair. _I've hurt him so much_ , she thought. _I've_ _betrayed his trust because I was so sure I was doing the right thing. But never like this. And never when I thought that 'doing the right thing' could mean I'd lose him forever._ But then, hadn't that always been the risk? Rumple had told her before that love was a weapon. And she'd wielded it with no thought for the consequences, using his love for her and his fear of losing her whenever she'd needed him to do something.

_I was so certain that I was right, so sure that the ends justified the means, and for so many… minor_ stupid _things. Dangerous things, too. Stealing into Ingrid's lair, without telling any of the others? Imagine if I'd had the real dagger after all and then, she'd surprised me and taken it from me. And now, when telling him the truth really is the right thing, when I know Emma's right and the wisest move is to let Rumple find out about Will from me, rather than from someone else… Why am I hesitating?_

She took a deep breath. "Rumple…" She closed her eyes and tried to steady her voice.

"Belle," Rumple breathed. "Please tell me that you haven't been keeping the dagger in the shop."

Belle's eyes flew open. "The dagger," she repeated with a brittle edge in her voice. Not that damned thing again. Just when she was thinking that he was finally thinking of her and only her, he had to go and ruin things by bringing up that blasted knife.

"Belle?"

She took another breath. "No, Rumple," she sighed. "I haven't been keeping it there."

"You brought it with you, then?"

The excitement in his voice was like a dagger to her own heart. "No," she replied, somehow not adding that when they'd decided to come down here, she still hadn't been sure whether he'd been telling the truth about his condition and she hadn't been about to risk letting him get his hands on the dagger, lest he find some way of returning to town and to his magic with no check or control on it.

"Belle," Rumple exclaimed, "you aren't saying that you left it alone and unguarded? Emma said that there's been spate of break-ins. If your apartment was part of it, then…"

"It wouldn't make a difference," Belle snapped.

"Belle?"

He'd been playing them, trying to act like he was changing when he just wanted what he'd wanted all along. "I gave it to Henry," she said finally. "From what I understand, he's quite good at keeping secrets. And I thought that out of the entire town, he'd probably be the least likely to… to use it instead of returning it to you, if you did come back with us."

Gold sighed with relief. "You couldn't have chosen a better guardian," he admitted. "Actually, I… I was hoping that you'd be able to check something for me. Well. I'd hoped you'd brought it with you, but if you've your phone, then you can call him, can't you?"

Belle blinked, wondering where this conversation was leading now. "I-I suppose so. What is it you need to know?"

Rumple's hand found hers and squeezed it. "The last time I was here," he said slowly, "when the pirate stabbed me, my name began to fade from the dagger as my condition worsened. It occurred to me that the same thing might be happening now. At least," he whispered, "it might give us all an idea of how much or, more to the point, how little time remains to me."

Belle felt tears spring to her eyes. Here she'd been attributing the worst motives to him and all he wanted was to find out how long he had left. His left hand was clasped in her right. Now she brought her left hand forward, sandwiching his between both of hers. "Of course," she whispered. "I'll call Henry and ask him. Or… would you rather?"

He shook his head. "No, I think it best you place the call. If the news is worse than I fear, he might hesitate to be its bearer if I'm the one asking." A puzzled frown lit on his face.

"Belle?" he asked.

"Hmmm?"

"I'm sorry. What was it that you were going to tell me before I brought us onto this subject?"

Belle gave him a tremulous smile. "It-it can wait. I think calling Henry is more important right now."

Rumple nodded. "Belle? If the news is bad, you'll tell me? You'll hold nothing back?"

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

Rumple smiled then. "Forgive me," he said gently. "I shouldn't have insulted you by asking. After everything I've done, the lies I've told you, the secrets I've kept… I should have remembered."

"Rumple?"

His smile grew warmer. "I should have remembered," he said, his voice breaking, "that you promised me after finding Ingrid's mirror that you'd never keep a secret from me again. And, unlike so many others I've known and thought I could trust, you'd never break your word to me. I love you, Belle."

She drew him into an embrace with a strangled sob. "And I love you," she whispered.

_But how can I ever tell you about Will now?_


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Emma ended her call and waited a moment before she knocked on the bathroom door. August emerged shaking his head. "You're okay?" he asked.

Emma made a face. "Not really," she admitted, "but I'll survive. Much as I appreciate your wanting let me yell at Hook in private, you could have waited in the hallway. You would have had more space."

August smiled. "True, but I also wouldn't have had a place to sit down and it could've been awkward if I'd actually _needed_ the facilities." He took a step closer toward her. "Anything you feel up to venting about?" he asked.

Emma was silent for a long moment. Then she exhaled heavily, walked over to her bed, and sat down on the edge. She motioned to August to sit on Belle's bed and he did, regarding her quietly, his arms by his sides, his palms facing outward, his legs slightly apart, feet pointed toward her, looking almost like an illustration of 'openness' in a textbook of body language. "So, from what I heard before I realized I probably needed to go someplace else..." he began. "I guess it wasn't Will who robbed the store?"

Emma let out another heavy sigh. "No, it was. Killian happened to spot him leaving and decided to take advantage of an open door to… to…"

August waited patiently for her to continue.

"I get why he couldn't just ask, _especially_ after everything that's passed between him and Gold, but the way he…" She broke off. "Sorry. Will did break into the shop. He knew Gold hadn't had time to cast a magical protection spell before Belle banished him, and there _are_ a lot of valuables. According to Killian, Will cleaned out one of the jewelry cases and maybe grabbed a few other things; he's not sure. Then, after Will left, Killian went in and saw the empty display counter."

"And…?"

Emma closed her eyes. "He told me he just went in because he wanted to see if Gold had anything there of Neal's or maybe even Milah's, though _he_ admits he knew it was probably a longshot. He was looking for something to remember them by. And he knew that even if Gold had anything like that, he'd never part with it."

"So he went in after Will left to do some of his own searching."

"Yeah. He swears he didn't find what he was looking for and he didn't actually take anything else with him when he left. But he also didn't care about the mess he was making. And when he didn't find anything, he… got frustrated and…"

"And he trashed the place," August finished.

"Yeah. So, it was vandalism on Hook's part, not theft. And he was going to let Will take the blame for it."

August's breath whistled through his teeth. "So, what are you going to do now?"

"Well," Emma said, "I might still be sheriff, but I've got enough to deal with here without getting more worked up than I already am. I told him he had to let my dad and Robin know the truth. Normally, I'd say he needed to tell Gold, too only that's a little more complicated."

"Complicated how?" August asked. An instant later, he sucked in his breath. "Never mind. Maybe I _do_ still have a wooden head; it's not like I haven't read Rumpelstiltskin's story in two separate editions. Yeah. Confessing to the guy whose wife ran off with you that you wreaked havoc on his store because you wanted to swipe a souvenir of the son he lost, whom you sort of adopted, not to mention the wife…" He made a face. "Is there anything on this trip that _isn't_ messy or complicated?"

Emma winced. "I could probably list a few things off the top of my head, but the way things have been going? Before I start rhyming them off, maybe we should wait an hour and see if any new facts come to light."

August shook his head with a rueful smile. Then he jerked it toward the wall. "You think they're okay in there?"

"I—"

Just then, the door opened and Belle walked in. "I thought I'd programmed it, but I don't seem to have Henry's number in my phone," she said abruptly. Could you call him?"

* * *

"You left his dagger with _Henry_?" Emma exclaimed, once she'd heard Belle's explanation.

"I wasn't about to bring it with me, but I didn't want to entrust it to someone who might not give it back," Belle protested.

"Henry is twelve years old!" Emma snapped. "And the dagger… Did you even think about the danger if anyone knows he has it? Both to your husband and my son!"

"Uh…" August edged toward the door. "If you two don't need me, I'll just… head out of the blast radius…"

Both women ignored him. "I would think Henry would know how to be discreet," Belle huffed as the door closed behind August. "I mean, didn't he keep the storybook hidden for weeks during the first curse?"

"The storybook, yes! What was going on in his head, not so much. Or didn't you know Regina had him in therapy to try to convince him that he was living a fantasy? And he only took that job at the shop so he could go poking around, because he thought Gold might have an idea about who the author was. Gold knew, of course."

Belle's eyes widened. "He knew?"

"Oh, not what Henry was looking for. But that Henry was basically in the shop to snoop around? Yeah." Emma shook her head, her anger diminishing. "Probably figured it was the only reason the kid would want to be around him… Something else I need to talk to Regina about."

"Sorry?"

Emma sighed. "Henry actually wouldn't have minded spending more time with his grandfather, even without an angle. Regina and I were trying to discourage it, because…" She looked at the ground. "Well, you know." She shook her head. "I don't think it was Henry asking him for a job that made him suspicious. I think it was that he was doing it with Regina's blessing. Gold knew something was up. But," her glower returned, "Henry sure didn't do anything to convince him otherwise. He keeps secrets, Belle. That doesn't mean he can hide the fact that he has them. And if anyone even suspects…"

Her phone was out again. "Regina? We've got a situation. Yeah. Another one."

* * *

Regina called back twenty minutes later. "It's a good thing he's got a long name," she remarked. "One wonders whether Zoso would have been dead almost as soon as he realized something was wrong."

"Regina?"

The snarkiness went out of the mayor's voice. "The last five letters. One third of his name. And no telling when the fading started or how long the interval between letters. I've asked Henry to check it twice daily from now on and keep me informed. I suppose I should be gratified he didn't pretend not to know what I was talking about when I asked him."

"I just found out about it a minute before I called you."

"I know," Regina reassured her. "For now, I'm doing what I can to safeguard the thing and keep it inconspicuous. Not that Henry's been showing it off, of course, but I've learned it's best not to take chances. Tomorrow," she took a breath, "the two of us are going to go over the town maps and see whether we can't find a safe storage space that Henry can get to easily, but one that Zelena won't be likely to stumble on, in the unlikely event that she somehow escapes from the asylum or finds an accomplice on the outside to do her dirty work." She paused. "I haven't forgotten what she reduced Rumple to. And, while I'd normally like to believe I could do a better job at keeping that knife safe on my own, there are two good reasons for leaving it with Henry. First, Zelena spent many years spying on me. She knows how I think. She knows the kinds of spells I'm best with. And she just might be able to neutralize them. And second," she sighed, "after what I did to stop Rumple from killing her after the battle, I think it's probably wise that he doesn't have to trust me not to abuse the dagger's power. Let Henry protect the dagger. I'll protect Henry."

"Wow," Emma breathed. "Yeah, okay. I'll tell him." As far as she knew, that was the closest Regina had ever come to apologizing to Gold.

_I've been trying not to think too far ahead, but even if Gold comes back with us, if everyone is expecting him to be back to scheming and plotting in no time, he's not going to have much incentive not to live down to those expectations. It sounds like Regina's been thinking along those lines, too. Maybe this is her way of saying that she's going to try to do things differently this time. Or maybe I'm just being overly optimistic._

"In other news," Regina added, "Robin thinks he's got a lead on Will Scarlet's trail. Your father believes he should be in custody within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

"Good," Emma replied. "Uh… before you throw the book at him, though, I'd talk to Killian. There's a little more to the story than you think."

"Isn't there always?" Regina sighed. "I'll follow up with him. Good night, Emma."

Emma wished Regina the same and ended the call with a sigh. "Well, that's one thing taken care of, anyway," she told Belle. "So…?"

"His name?" Belle prompted.

Emma's face was serious. "Well, Regina pointed out that we don't know when the letters started fading and we don't know how long it takes for another letter to drop off, but… five gone."

"Five!" Belle repeated with dismay.

"Henry or Regina will call me if there's any change. So." Belle nodded, saying nothing. After a moment, Emma prompted, "How did Gold take the news?"

"Y-you saw," Belle said with some surprise. Then she realized that Emma wasn't referring to the robbery. "Oh."

Emma sucked in her breath. "You didn't tell him."

"I meant to," Belle protested. "But coming on the heels of the news about the robbery, and then… He was so… He begged me to find out about the dagger even though he knew that the news couldn't be good. This… this isn't the right time."

Emma shook her head. "When's a better one going to be, Belle? Seriously, there is never going to be a good time to tell him. But it's going to be a lot worse if he finds out some other way."

Belle winced. "The thing is, there's really nothing to tell. I was upset. Will helped me get through those first weeks. We became friends and… and I didn't see the harm, all right? I didn't think I'd ever see or hear from Rumple again. What was I supposed to do? Move into the convent until Blue and the others were freed and then see if they were accepting novices? So, yes," Belle snapped. "Will and I 'kept company'. Rumple was gone and I had to go on with my life. And things were moving in a direction I thought could become something down the road. And then Rumple called and everything became… complicated once more."

"That's life," Emma said, not unkindly.

"Yes, but…" Belle closed her eyes. "Until we know for sure that he's coming back with us, is it truly the right thing to tell him? It's only going to hurt him, maybe even shorten his life. Once we decide things, there'll be time enough for confessing. Right now," Belle crossed to the door in three quick strides, "I need to tell him about the dagger. I really think that's enough bad news, don't you?"

So saying, she turned the knob and pulled the door wide.

Rumple was standing on the threshold, his face chalk-white and frozen in an expression of shock.

* * *

She was taking too long and Rumple was growing nervous. How much time did it take to get an answer to one question over the telephone? And if Henry wasn't available, then surely Belle would have come back to tell him straight away, rather than watch television or curl up with some book for an hour before trying again!

Instead, the puppet had returned, looking somewhat nervous, as he told Rumple that he'd chosen to make himself scarce after seeing Emma's reaction to learning the location of the dagger. Rumple could easily understand her ire, even though he stood by his assertion that Belle had left it in the best hands she could. Nobody was likely to suspect a child of having such an item in his care, the boy knew how to keep things safe from prying eyes and, far more importantly, Rumple agreed with Belle's assessment that Henry wouldn't be likely to use the dagger against him. Resigned, he'd tried to settle back to wait patiently, but his heart would not stop fluttering and his hands remained blocks of ice at his side.

He truly didn't know whether this sort of stress could impact his condition. Perhaps it would be better if he paid a visit to the other room to find out the reason for the delay and, if necessary, to calm Emma down long enough to make that phone call and find out where things stood.

He was about to knock on the door, when he realized that it might be wiser to gauge the environment he was about to enter. He'd seen the savior enraged before and some preparation might be warranted. So, while it was a truism that eavesdroppers seldom learned anything pleasant, he'd leaned his ear against the door…

…And learned far more than he'd bargained for.

He wanted to run—impossible in this world, with his ankle as it was. He didn't want to face Belle, not now, while the words he'd overheard were still stabbing into him more keenly than the dagger ever could. Then rapid footsteps told him that she was coming toward the door and he knew he had to get away quickly, get back to the other room, and try to act as though he hadn't just been out in the corridor. But his legs would not obey. And then, the knob was turning and it was all he could do to straighten up before she yanked it open and he fell into the room.

As he looked into her startled blue eyes, he saw her jaw gape open and a hand fly to her mouth as she realized that he'd heard everything.

"So," he managed, trying to sound calm and knowing he was failing miserably, "I suppose I know now what you were trying to tell me earlier."

Belle took an involuntary step backwards. "I-I think you'd better come inside," she said in a voice slightly louder than a whisper. "Please?"

He gave her a slight nod and came forward, his legs moving jerkily of their own accord, almost as though it were he and not Booth who was the puppet. As he moved into the room, Emma got up. "I… think I'll go see if August can teach me to… whittle," she murmured.

"Emma!" Belle reached for her. "Please…"

Instead of turning to her, Emma's eyes found Rumple's. He turned his head slightly toward the door behind him and nodded. "I think you both need your privacy," Emma replied, patting Belle's hand as Rumple moved aside to let her pass.

As she did so, she squeezed his arm and he realized that, for once, she wasn't automatically siding against him. He barely had time to process _that_ realization when the door closed behind her. He took a deep breath. "Belle?"

Belle wanted to hide from the mute accusation in her husband's eyes. No, on second thought, accusation was the wrong word. She saw pain in his brown eyes, resignation, even acceptance. But there was no blame, no anger. That made it worse. "I… I'm so sorry, Rumple," she whispered. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Rumple pressed his lips together tightly, closed his eyes and ducked his chin once.

She motioned to the two beds. "Let's sit down," she said, fighting to sound calm. "Let's… talk." Rumple murmured a question that she couldn't quite catch, apart from the interrogative note at its end. "Pardon?"

"Do you love him?" he choked out.

Belle hesitated. "I-I thought I did. Or, at least, I thought I might… get there. But no, Rumple. I don't. I see that now." She took another breath and then the words started tumbling out, faster than she could hold them back. "I love you, Rumple. I didn't stop. Not even on the night I sent you away. But I didn't think I'd ever see you again and I…"

Rumple staggered over to the bed and sat down. "I know," he said. "I wouldn't have expected otherwise. Truly, I-I know I have no right to. I spent every day of our marriage deceiving you, when I should have been trying to make you happy. I can scarcely blame you for thinking yourself well rid of me."

"N-now wait," Belle protested. "I never thought—"

He wasn't finished. "But couldn't you have waited more than one night before leaping into someone else's arms?" Rumple demanded, his face twisting as he tried unsuccessfully to hold back the tide of emotion.

Belle started to reach out to him, but something about his posture and the brittle glistening pain in his eyes checked her. "It wasn't like that," she murmured. "I… Banishing you was the hardest thing I ever did. Harder even than accepting your offer to help my duchy in the first place. I was hurt and angry and… almost as soon as it was done, I started having regrets. That night, Will… gave me a friendly ear. That's all. Things just... happened afterwards."

"What things?" Rumple asked. Then, quickly, "No. On second thought, I don't want to know."

"Not… _that_ ," Belle replied. "Never that."

Rumple exhaled and the faintest hint of a smile played on his face. "I wouldn't blame you if you had," he murmured.

Belle shook her head.

"I truly never meant to deceive you."

Of course he hadn't. He never did. Since they'd found each other again in this new realm, he'd always tried to spare her glimpses of his darker side. But, "It didn't happen by accident, Rumple," Belle said sadly. "You knew what you were doing when you gave me the false dagger. And you knew what you were doing when you distracted me so Killian could trap the fairies."

Rumple's hands started to tremble. "I told you. It was only so I could avenge Bae. And by now, Regina may have already released the little fireflies."

He wasn't calling them 'bugs' or 'insects', but the insulting term still infuriated her. "They're _fairies_!" Belle snapped. "And I don't care about the reasons, Rumple. It always comes down to one thing: you do what you want, no matter who gets hurt, and you find some way to hide your true intentions from the rest of us. Just for once, can't you do something good, not to distract us, not to fool us into thinking you've changed, but just because it's the right thing?" Because, if he could somehow manage that, then finally, they could all go home. But Rumple simply wouldn't make that choice unless he knew that he stood to gain by it. And that was exactly why he was in his current situation. It was his own doing and, while she might have banished him, it never would have come to that had he trusted her a bit more and loved his power a bit less. He had only himself to blame.

At her words, a tremor seemed to ripple through Rumple then, but Belle barely noticed it. She was reliving that night again and feeling the same pain and anguish and rage afresh. "Can't you even once choose love over power?"

Wounded brown eyes locked on angry blue, as he said disbelievingly, "But Belle, you were there when I did!"

Belle hadn't expected him to have much to say in his defense. She was already about to fire off another angry retort to whatever poor excuse he might make. But Rumple's soft, hurt rejoinder brought her up short and she flinched. The fury drained from her eyes like water through a funnel as she realized what Rumple had to be referring to…

* * *

_The snow was coming down hard and Belle wasn't dressed for it. The thick flakes stung her bare skin and she wished she was wearing a shirt with a higher neckline. Or a scarf. She watched as Baelfire—Neal, now—knelt on the ground and inserted the key to the Dark Vault into the slot. He was making a mistake. Lumiere—the man whom they'd believed Rumple had transformed into a living candlestick—had just told them that it was a trick on the part of the Wicked Witch of the West to restore Rumple so that she could control him with the dagger._

_Neal didn't care. Or, at least, he wasn't overly concerned, so positive was he that Rumple would find some way out of the trap. He simply couldn't imagine that his father would fail._

_Belle tried to warn him one last time, even as he gripped the butt of the key and pressed down. "Neal, wait!" She was never certain afterwards as to whether she'd called out too late, or whether he'd simply ignored her. All she knew was that she heard him cry out as some force seemed to fling him away from the vault and he was cradling his hand as he bathed it in the snow. Belle saw some symbol that hadn't been there before burned into his palm. From the quick glimpse she'd caught, she thought it must be the imprint of the butt of the key. And then, the lid of the vault began to sink and a black, viscous liquid flowed out, covering the lid, towering over Neal's supine form, as it slowly rose and took on the shape of a man._

_"Rumple?" she called, uncertain but daring to hope._

_And then, Neal cried out again and collapsed at her feet. "Neal?" She bent over him in alarm. "Neal! What's wrong? Are you okay?" His only response was another cry. "It's okay," she said, hoping she was telling the truth. "Just hold on, okay?"_

_She looked up and saw Rumple looking down at her, at them. His skin was as scaly as it had been when first she'd met him, but his eyes, despite their reptilian appearance, were as warm and loving as they'd been when he'd bid her farewell and put an end to Pan. "Belle," he said. And then he looked past her and took in his son's condition. "Bae. No. Bae." He closed the distance between them and took Neal into his arms._

_"Poor Baelfire," a new voice said pleasantly. "Just couldn't learn from his father's mistakes…"_

_Belle listened with mounting horror as the witch gloated. Rumple shot her a look of pure hatred and turned to his son once more. "It's going to be all right, son."_

_Zelena was almost laughing. "I do doubt that."_

_Rumple looked at Belle. "Go."_

_She started to obey as Rumple said, "I'm not going to let him go." She took a step backwards, keeping her eyes on the witch. But now, some force seemed to be tugging at Rumple's arm… no, not his arm—the dagger in his hand! Rumple was using his power to keep his son alive, but the witch was using hers to try to wrest the dagger from him and Rumple was faltering._

_"Sorry, Rumple," the witch said calmly. "You can't hang onto both of them."_

_She was right, Belle realized. Maybe the magic Rumple was trying to work was too great an effort, even for him. Maybe he wasn't yet up to his full strength. But whatever the reason, the witch was right and Rumple saw it, too. With an angry cry, he relinquished the dagger and drew Neal into himself._

_He'd chosen Neal over sanity, over freedom, over power. Belle couldn't quite believe it. Even the witch seemed impressed. But it didn't stop her from ordering Rumple to kill her. She knew she should try to run, even as she knew that it would do her no good. She saw the emptiness and horror in her True Love's face as he fought to keep from obeying the command, fought harder than he had almost a year later, when Belle ordered him over the town line. And then, the candle intervened, breaking the witch's concentration, giving her time to flee…_

_And flee she had, not stopping until she'd reached the castle and warned Snow and the others…_

* * *

"I remember," Belle whispered, feeling her hands break out in a cold sweat. "You chose Neal."

"And before that," Rumple replied quietly, "I chose both of you."

On Main Street, after Pan had already cast the curse and meant to kill them before it struck, simply to hurt Rumple one final time. And Rumple had died for them. Belle nodded, feeling her anger drain away, to be replaced by horror.

 _I always claimed I could see the good in him when no one else could. I suppose, I thought it was_ my _superpower. How did I just… overlook this?_

"Should I have chosen otherwise?" Rumple asked, still in that quiet, eerily calm voice.

Belle shook her head, blinking hard. "No. Of course not."

"So, you agree it was, as you put it, 'the right thing'." A bitter mocking edge crept into his words, freezing the watery smile that had already begun to curve on Belle's lips. "Though I can't say as I blame you for doubting it. After all, I died a hero, saving the people I loved most and even the people whose well-being meant as little to me as mine did to them. Perhaps, villains don't get happy endings," he rasped, "but at least, I knew that with Pan gone, Regina would stop the curse and you and Bae would be safe. And knowing that, well, I could die contented, if not happy. And yet," his voice hardened, "not long afterwards, Fate decided it wasn't done toying with me. I returned to the realms of the living, only see my son at death's door. I made the 'right' decision," he said, "when I kept him alive at the cost of both freedom and sanity. And in the end, he still died in my arms. I made the 'right' decision when I gave you and the others the key to defeating Zelena in our land, even though even after you all had your memories of the missing year restored, you quickly forgot that without my information, you would never have thought to recast the curse and bring the savior back to defeat the witch. I made the 'right' decision when I allowed you to keep me from killing the pirate and he repaid my mercy by robbing you of your memories, nearly destroying me and, more recently, attempting to blackmail me."

"Rumple…"

If he heard her protest, he ignored it. "I have made many wrong decisions over the years and paid a heavy price for them. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that right decisions aren't free either. But why does it feel as though their cost is the greater?"

"Things will get better," Belle pleaded. "In time…"

"Really?" Rumple shot back. "Why don't you ask Regina how _her_ happy ending is working out? I know," he continued, not waiting for her answer, "after everything I've done, I shouldn't expect anything more than I've earned. But I dared to hope that my actions might at least have garnered some… recognition." His face twisted again and Belle could see a tear in one of his eyes. "At least, from someone who was always able to see the man behind the monster?" He paused for breath.

Belle reached out to him and was shocked when he drew back.

"Don't," he said quietly. "No matter how much we may want it to be, I… don't think it can be salvaged."

"Because of Will?" Belle guessed.

Rumple shook his head. "Because you know exactly the kind of person I am and… so do I. You were right, Belle. I never changed. But that's not the problem. The problem is, something else did."

"Wh-what?"

"When first we met," Rumple said slowly, "you knew I was a monster. You looked deeper and saw the man inside, but you fell in love with _me_. All of me. Man and monster and all shades in-between. Somewhere along the line, _that_ changed. And the person I am simply… isn't good enough." He saw her lips part in protest and shook his head. "It's the truth, Belle," he said. "Deny it all you like, but isn't that what you've been doing all along? Denying what was before your eyes? Denying anything that would shatter your perceptions, until you could do so no longer? I love you, Belle. I never wanted to hurt you. And so, I tried to be everything you wanted or, at the very least, to hide from view the parts of me you least wanted to see. But they've always been there. And when you realized it, when it came to a choice between keeping a cup chipped beyond repair or tossing it in the trash, well, I can hardly fault you for disposing of rubbish."

Belle's jaw gaped open. "Rumple! You're not—"

He held up a hand, cutting off her protest. "Belle, please. Please, don't. You denied the reality before your eyes so long and so vehemently that I thought that perhaps, you might even be right. That maybe, just maybe, you could want me. But finally, you saw the truth. And it's time I did as well." So saying, he got up from the bed, fumbling for his cane.

"Rumple…?"

He shook his head as he moved toward the door. "I don't want this anymore, dearie. Always holding back, afraid to take a misstep for fear you'll leave me again. Afraid that doing the right thing may take you from me forever, just as it did Bae. Go home, Belle. Back to Storybrooke. Patch things up with Will. Or meet someone else. Have the life you deserve, with the love you deserve and would have had if our story had ended when I stopped Pan." He turned the handle and pulled the door open. "Act like the heroes you so admire. Belle," he smiled sadly on the threshold, "be the hero you've always wanted to be." And before the door closed behind him, Belle heard his voice finally break as he finished, "Forget me."


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some dialogue copied from S1E12: Skin Deep, S2E20: The Evil Queen, and S3E15: Quiet Minds.

**Chapter Thirty**

 

His heart was hammering against his ribs as he found himself standing on the other side of Belle's door. A memory flashed upon him of the moment when he'd crippled himself so that he would be sent home from the front. In the first instant after the sledge hammer's impact, all he'd registered of the blow had been a blunt heaviness that had staggered him. And then, almost immediately, an excruciating, throbbing pain that overrode every other thought in his head and continued relentlessly as he shrieked his agony. Although this time, he was able to keep silent, the sensations he was currently experiencing in his chest were remarkably similar. It wasn't at all like the attack he'd suffered nearly two months ago. Then, there had been a tightness in his torso, a numbness in his arm and finally, a sudden swift pain, a moment when he'd felt as though he were trying to breathe through a drinking straw, and the next thing he'd known, he'd been waking up in a hospital room with an oxygen mask over his face. This was an entirely different phenomenon.

He leaned against the wall and tried not to hyperventilate. Part of him wished that Belle would fling open the door and run after him, even though he knew it was for the best that she didn't. He couldn't very well stand in the hallway shaking and gasping. But returning to his room would mean confronting Emma and Booth. They would have questions that he wouldn't want to answer. And if he didn't answer them, then they would draw their own conclusions.

They might blame Belle.

No. This time, like so many others, his sorry state was his own doing. He couldn't go back to his room and he couldn't stay here. He eyed the elevators speculatively. Based on his experience these last days, they could be rather slow. Should one of the others open their door too soon, they might see him standing there. He didn't want them to see him in this state. He'd managed—barely—to leave Belle with some shred of his dignity intact. He wasn't about to let anyone view him shaking and weeping. He didn't need or want their pity.

He gave the elevators another glance. Then he turned in the opposite direction and made his way toward the stairs. He tried not to think about the eight flights it would take to reach the lobby. _Eight flights with his ankle._ He winced. Then he saw the sign on the stairwell door that indicated that its use was reserved for emergencies (which, to his mind, this was) and that an alarm would sound if the door were opened.

Shaking his head, he turned back toward the elevators and pressed the 'down' button. Surprisingly, the car arrived in less than a minute.

A bitter smile curved his lips. Even fate seemed to be agreeing that he'd just done the right thing. At least, it certainly appeared to be smiling on him…

He pressed the button for the lobby.

* * *

Belle sat rigidly on the bed, her shoulders hunched, her arms tight at her sides, and her hands clasped in her lap. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe any of it. Why had Emma kept after her and after her? Surely it wouldn't have hurt to have kept her secret from Rumple a bit longer. She knew she'd been right to want to spare him this anguish. Why, there was still no way of knowing if he was even coming back to Storybrooke and if he wasn't, then how could it help him to know of her indiscretion now?

Her eyes opened wide as a sudden realization jolted her. Rumple hadn't walked out because of Will. Yes, he'd been shocked to learn that she'd taken up with someone else after he'd gone, and finding out about it in the way he had must have been horrible. But the reason he'd left had nothing to do with Will or with Emma. This was all on her.

She remembered a conversation she'd had with Neal when they'd first returned to the Enchanted Forest and gone back to Rumple's castle to see whether there wasn't some way to bring him back.

 _"If there's anyone who can defeat that witch and get you back to your family, it's the Dark One,"_ she'd said. And when Neal had seemed surprised at her faith in his father, her answer had been simply, _"I love him… All of him, even…"_

…Even the parts that belonged to the darkness. Belle's hand flew to her mouth. What had happened to them? No. What had happened to _her_? When had she stopped accepting him for who he was?

_When did I start thinking I needed to turn a cottage into a castle?_

She had to put this right. The only question in her mind now was whether to do it now or to give Rumple space to calm down.

 _"Nice of you to consider my feelings now, dearie,"_ a light voice edged with bitter mockery seemed to say in her head. _"And it does give you quite the excuse to avoid what promises to be an unpleasant situation."_

Well. _That_ voice was one of the parts of Rumple that Belle had never quite learned to love, though she'd learned to overlook it for the most part. It was equal parts mocking, cynical, and infuriating. But it was also right. She _was_ rationalizing, trying to find a reason not to do what she knew she had to, while still being able to look herself in the mirror. She was trying to pretend she didn't know the right thing to do, because the right thing…

…Was going to hurt.

And it still might not put things right.

She'd never seen Rumple like this before. Oh, she'd seen him sad and resigned that day when he'd given her the key to the library after he'd saved her from going over the town line, but that had been different. Then, he'd been apologizing for his mistakes, sure that she wouldn't give him another chance, but still wanting one if she'd relent. But now…

_"I don't want this anymore, dearie."_

His words seemed to echo in her mind. Once, long ago, he'd said almost the same thing. Almost.

 _"I don't want_ you _anymore, dearie."_

That first time, he'd been angry. He'd also been lying through his teeth. And they'd both known it. But tonight…

Tonight, Rumple had _meant_ it.

All of it, she realized with a pang. Including…

_Including calling himself a cup chipped beyond repair and—_

Hot tears spilled down her cheeks and she hugged herself and rocked slowly back and forth. And then, slowly, deliberately, she got up, went to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face. She took several deep breaths. Then she gathered up her courage, squared her shoulders, and marched out of the bathroom, out of the hotel room and several steps down the hallway, to knock on Rumple's door.

Maybe Rumple was right and she couldn't fix this, but she was damned well going to try.

* * *

Evidently, Fate was _not_ smiling upon him this evening, after all. Well. There might be a smile involved, but only as a precursor to laughing in his face. When he pushed open the double doors of the hotel, it was to discover that somewhere over the course of the last few hours, the weather had changed dramatically. Freezing rain hammered the pavement and, before Rumple's eyes, a pedestrian on the other side of the street flailed and twisted in a vain attempt to remain upright as their legs shot out from under them and they landed in an ungainly back flop.

Rumple winced. He looked at the street before him, noting that it was probably just as slippery on this side. He thought about trying to make his way outside with his cane and his bad ankle. And he remembered that his coat was still upstairs in the room and that while his Armani suit was wool, it wouldn't keep out much of the cold and once the rain soaked it through, it would be even worse.

He raised wounded angry eyes to the night sky. _I've just given Belle my blessing and her best chance at happiness,_ he raged silently. _I've freed her to pursue the life she should have had without me. Surely that warrants some sort of consideration? Some discount off the price you mean to exact?_

Fate, or the wind, hit him full force and he took a step backwards and let the doors close before him, stifling a curse. So much for his plan to be well away before the others even knew that he was gone. A bitter smile curved his lips. No, on second thought, he'd venture to guess that he had several hours before they'd even notice his absence. The savior and the puppet would think he was still with Belle and give them their privacy to 'work things out'. And if Belle were about to go charging after him, she would have done so before he'd gotten on the elevator. But she wasn't coming after him, because she'd recognized the truth in what he'd said. He had plenty of time before Emma grew fatigued enough to venture back to the room she shared with Belle. By then, they'd assume that he'd left ages ago.

He wondered whether they'd even bother searching for him. It didn't much matter. They never would have come here in the first place had Belle not wanted to see him again. And now that she was free of him, there was no reason for her and the others to stay.

So. The Author—if he were ever found—would not be getting his special ink. But then, after the events of this evening, Rumple could honestly say that he didn't much care. He was going to die and, while it saddened him, it wasn't as though it hadn't happened before. He should be frightened, he supposed, but really, he was just numb. He'd felt like this before, when he'd thought Bae was dead. And now, the love that he and Belle had shared, the future he'd dared to dream that they might build was lost to him for good. Good. His lips twitched. At least, he'd had enough goodness in his heart to let Belle get free of him. He'd done that much.

Rumpelstiltskin sat down unobtrusively in the lobby, choosing an armchair that faced the window, so that he would see the moment when the rain ceased.

* * *

"Okay, okay, sheesh!" Belle heard August grumbling on the other side of the door. She supposed that she had been pounding on it a bit loudly. At this hour, it might be disturbing some of the other patrons. Well. They'd just have to deal. The door opened abruptly and August blinked. "Belle?"

Belle took a deep breath. "I want to talk to my husband. I know he probably doesn't want to talk to me now but I have to. Just for a minute." She pushed past August and stopped. Emma was sitting on one of the beds. Rumple wasn't in the room.

Undeterred, Belle marched to the bathroom door and raised her hand, preparing to knock.

"He's not here," Emma said.

Belle turned to face her. "Then where is he?"

August closed the door softly and when Belle turned automatically in response to the sound, he raised an eyebrow. "We… thought he was with you."

Belle's face seemed to crumple. "H-he didn't come back here?"

Their blank looks told her all she needed to know.

"Belle?" Emma asked hesitantly.

Again, anger roiled within her and she wanted to give it free reign, tell Emma that she should have just minded her own business, that if she hadn't kept pushing and pushing, none of this would have happened. Except that, as had already been established, none of this was Emma's fault. Belle rested one hand on the footboard of the bed closest to her. "I… made a mess of it," she whispered. Slowly, haltingly, she told them what had happened. When she was done, August and Emma exchanged a look.

"How long has he been gone?" August asked.

Belle thought. "Fifteen minutes? Maybe twenty. I don't know."

"He can't have gotten too far," August said. "Maybe we can catch up."

"The subway," Emma said. "We've been using it every day; he knows where it is."

"Yes," Belle ventured, "but where would he go at this hour?"

"Does it matter?" Emma asked.

Belle bristled immediately. Then she realized what Emma meant. She wasn't asking whether Rumple's destination mattered to _her_. "You think he just wants to get as far from here as possible," she murmured.

"Speaking from personal experience," Emma said, "yeah. I've been in that situation a couple of times."

"You're not alone," August nodded.

Belle went to the window, knowing that Rumple wouldn't be down below, but hoping just the same. Her eyes grew wide and she made a strangled noise. "I know it was starting to rain a bit when we were coming back from dinner," she said, "but did you see what it's like outside now?"

The other two joined her at the window. "If he went out in that…" August said slowly. He took a breath. "Emma, do you know the Mini Storage at West 213th and Broadway?"

"In Inwood?" Emma asked. Then she nodded, "Yeah, I know how to get there. Why?"

"I've got something stashed there that we're going to need. You'll need to take the car though; it's in a duffle bag and there's a lot of other stuff in there. Probably best to bring the whole thing back so we can sort through it."

"The last time I had to get something out of a storage locker, I ended up incarcerated for eleven months," Emma said, sounding angry. "And if I remember right, you had something to do with it back then, too."

"That's not going to happen this time, I swear," August replied.

Something about his tone checked her.

"If I had a driver's license, or my cycle, I'd get it myself, but I don't have either of those."

"Okay," Emma said in a more subdued tone. "I don't suppose you could tell me what's in that duffle bag that it's so important I go get it now?"

"The book that old man gave me all those years ago," August said. "The one with the locator spell recipe."

Emma blinked. "Seriously?"

"Gold's got a head start on us. I know finding people is what you're good at, but the spell might just close the distance."

"I-I know, but won't we need eye of newt or heart of dragon or something?"

August shook his head, but he was smiling as he did so. "If we did, I'd never have been able to make the spell the first time. We'll need a few unusual items, but nothing a trip to a well-stocked natural health store won't turn up. The sooner we have the book, the sooner we can make up the shopping list."

"Okay," Emma said. "I'm on it."

"Drive safe," August cautioned. "It's really not great out there."

"What can I do to help?" Belle asked.

Emma hesitated. "You know Gold better than any of us. Maybe make a list of the best places to look for him. It might give us somewhere to start if we can't get everything we need for the spell."

It sounded like busy-work to Belle, but she nodded anyway. It was better than sitting still and worrying.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin watched the rain come down outside and wondered how much longer it would be before he could risk going outside. He should have been long gone by now. He wasn't sure where he would spend the night; he had less than ten dollars in his pocket, and he was now far too well dressed to take his chances at one of the homeless shelters. And that was assuming that there was one in the vicinity that wasn't filled to capacity at this hour. He supposed that he could wait until morning and pay a call on the Sea Witch, as he'd thought he might two weeks ago.

That prospect was even less appealing now.

Not to mention, useless. He was dying. If his name was fading from the dagger, he doubted he'd be able to reverse that trend through magic alone. He needed Emma to go dark and that was looking more and more unlikely all the time. He slumped miserably in the arm chair. The falling rain had an almost hypnotic effect and he felt himself begin to drift off.

Behind him, the elevator doors creaked open and, reflected in the window glass, he saw the savior emerge. He sank lower in the chair, hoping that she wouldn't spot him. She stood near the front desk, several paces behind him, gazing out the window. She did not appear pleased by what she saw. Then her eyes widened and she took several quick strides forward while he cursed himself for an idiot. Of course if he could see _her_ reflection in the glass, she could see _his_. There was no way he could escape now. He didn't want to hear the lecture that was sure to be forthcoming. Didn't want to confirm how badly he'd upset Belle or how lucky he should feel that his wife had come here in the first place after the way he'd treated her and how he'd just thrown her kindness back in her face and he didn't deserve her. He _knew_ that. He'd always known it. He'd just finally accepted it. He—

"Gold!" The savior was suddenly before him, squatting down so that her eyes were level with his and he tensed, waiting for the tirade to start. Then she clapped one hand to each of his shoulders and breathed a huge sigh. "Thank G-d," she said. "I was on my way to get August's locator potion recipe. We thought you went out in that," here she jerked her head toward the window. "W-we've been worried sick…"

He tilted his head disbelievingly. There was no mistaking the sincerity in her words or the relief in her tone. For a terrifying moment, he thought that she was about to _hug_ him. "I didn't know you cared," he muttered, horrified when he realized that it hadn't come out anywhere near as sarcastically as he'd intended.

Then her words really sank in. "Locator potion?" he repeated, fighting to hide his shock. He'd considered the possibility that they'd make a half-hearted effort to find him before shaking their heads at his folly, giving up and going home. It hadn't occurred to him that they'd resort to a magical measure like _that_. Touched as he was, enough was enough. "It doesn't matter," he said in a harsher tone. "As soon as the weather abates, I'll be well away. I appreciate your coming here, but I think we all know that Belle's better off without me."

Emma blinked. "Even if that's true—and I'm not saying it is—what does that have to do with you running off in the middle of the night?" she demanded. She still hadn't released his shoulders and he had the feeling that it was only willpower that was keeping her from shaking them now. "Gold, we didn't come here for your marriage. That's between you and Belle. We came here for you."

"You came because I placed a telephone call to my wife."

"Do you think anyone blames you for that?" Emma snapped.

"If she hadn't prevailed on you to come down here, you'd still be in Storybrooke. And the three of you would all be better off."

"I don't think so," Emma said slowly, and Gold's snort of disbelief died on his lips. The savior wasn't much given to meaningless social niceties. And her assertion didn't sound like something she was saying on reflex.

"Belle needs you," he said in a more subdued tone. "You should go to her."

"August's with her," Emma said. "Actually, I should text her that you're here. She's calling the hospitals. We… uh… thought you could've broken your neck out there."

"Yes, that's why I've been down here," Gold returned.

"You have somewhere else you can crash tonight?" Emma asked with a frown.

Gold felt his temper start to bristle and he was about to tell her to mind her own business. Something in her voice checked him. "I managed for more than six weeks before you came here," he said, forcing himself to smile. "I'm sure I'll find someplace."

"The parks are going to be freezing this time of night. Not to mention wet and muddy, going by what's doing out there."

His jaw gaped. "How did you kn—who said anything about a park?"

Emma sighed. "The weather in Boston isn't that different from here. When I was about twelve, I ran off from a group home in December. It had been warmer than December usually got in Boston. I don't even think I was wearing a jacket when I cut out. No," she said slowly, "just a sweater. I think they were predicting a green Christmas, even." She squeezed his shoulder. "Two days later, it started raining. And, once I was soaked to the skin, the temperature started dropping. I couldn't've had two bucks in my pocket and even if I'd somehow panhandled enough for a room, I don't think there's a hotel in the country that would rent one to a sixth-grader, especially not one who looked like a drowned rat. And two hours of trying everything from huddling under a tree to curling up in the playground equipment was enough to show me that camping out in a park was a horrible idea. I… actually turned myself in to social services because I figured it was that or freeze to death."

She shook her head. "Look, it's not safe out there. If you don't want to talk to Belle tonight, we can work something out. How about if I tell August to see her back to the room she and I are sharing; I'll get you settled in yours and then, August and I can just… trade places?"

"And tomorrow? Will you have us sitting in separate subway cars while we go on whatever excursion you have planned?"

Emma squeezed his shoulder. "Let's just take things one step at a time. If we have to split up like we did the other day with the movies, we can. And when my dad and Regina eventually show up, if they need me to tag along for Zelena, then Belle can come with me, while you and August figure out something else to do." She took her right hand off of his left shoulder and held it out to him. "Come on. Unless," she went on dubiously, "you really want to be cold and wet and muddy tonight?"

He closed his eyes. "No," he admitted. "You'll see to it that I won't have to confront her this evening?"

Emma had her phone out. "I'll take care of it. Uh…"

Gold waited for her to continue. When she didn't after what felt like an eternity but was probably something on the order of less than a minute, he raised an eyebrow. "Ms Swan?"

Emma hesitated another moment. "Look, I don't have any answers for you on this one, so if, unlike me earlier today, you're actually hoping for one, I'm sorry to disappoint. But if you just want to… to talk, like you let me do before, my… schedule's pretty open right now." She hesitated. "And if you just… want someone around, but you don't want to get into stuff, that's okay, too."

"Because you think you owe me."

"I guess that's part of it," Emma admitted. "But seriously? Even if it wasn't, I'd stick around if you wanted me to."

"Why?" Incredulity made the question come out sharper than he'd intended, but the savior took no offense.

"Because I've been there," she said simply. "And I know what it feels like." She thrust her hand out again, a bit closer. "Can we please go upstairs? I… think I might topple over if I have to stay crouched like this for very much longer."

Despite himself, Rumple felt his lips twitch. The truth was, he _didn't_ want to leave the hotel in the midst of what was brewing outside. Even so, as he cautiously slid his hand into hers, he wondered whether he wasn't making another mistake.

* * *

Belle twisted and untwisted her fingers as she looked at the display on her phone's screen. There were so many places to go in New York. So many things to do. And so much accessible by subway. The letters and numbers on the screen seemed to blur. Almost without realizing it, she rose from the bed and walked back to the window. The rain was changing to snow, swirling through the night air. "Do you think Emma will be all right driving in that?" she asked.

August sighed. "Let's hope so."

Belle sighed. "This is all my fault. I was so… caught up in making sure I didn't fall into the old pattern of-of overlooking his schemes and plots and wrong choices that I didn't notice all of the times he did better. Or tried to."

There was a non-committal grunt from August.

Belle winced. "He didn't even give me a chance to apologize."

"Uh huh." Then, there came a surprised, "Hmm!"

"August?"

August rose to his feet. "C'mon."

"Where are we going?"

August sighed. "Back to your room. And, if it's okay with you, I'll keep you company for a bit." He held up his phone. "Gold was in the lobby. Emma's coming up with him in a minute." The smile that had already begun to spread across Belle's face froze as August continued, "He… isn't ready to talk to you right now."

Belle shook her head in disbelief. "August, I hurt him. Badly. I didn't mean to and I was wrong. I know that. But he doesn't. I have to tell him. He has to let me apologize."

Something seemed to harden in August's expression. "No," he said firmly. "Actually, he doesn't. If and when he's ready to hear it, sure. But until then, I wouldn't push things."

Belle's forehead creased in an angry frown. "August, he as good as told me I think of him as-as garbage. I have to make this right! We need to talk about it."

"No, Belle," August retorted. "You _want_ to talk about it. That's not the same thing."

"August, why are you acting like this? Wait." Belle stood stock-still. "This is about what happened eight weeks ago when Rumple wanted to explain himself at the town line and I wouldn't let him. I was wrong then, too. I should have let him have his say. But I can't go back in time to fix that. I _can_ fix this. And anyway," she continued angrily, "what gives you the right to mix in?"

"Belle," August's voice was flat and he seemed to be measuring his words as carefully as Belle had seen him gauge the depth of the cuts he'd been making with his whittling knife a moment earlier. "I have about all I can handle trying to calibrate Emma's conscience without worrying about yours. Fact is, until you just brought it up, I didn't know one damned thing about what was or wasn't said at the town line; I just knew you'd banished him. And that's only because I was in the library when you showed up with his voice message." At Belle's shocked look, he shrugged. "When you sent him away, I was nine years old. I wasn't exactly paying much attention to what the grownups were doing, except for the part where school was cancelled until the Snow Queen's winter wonderland melted."

"Then, I don't see why—"

"Because," August said firmly, "right now, he isn't the mood to talk and, regardless of whether you think he should be, that's his _right_ , Belle. It's not like the fate of Manhattan hangs on whether you can get him to accept an apology. You're not going to help set some nefarious plot in motion if you don't force a conversation tonight. He almost took off in the freezing rain to avoid talking about what happened and he's only coming back upstairs because Emma promised him he wouldn't have to." August's eyes softened somewhat and though his tone was still serious, a gentler note crept in as he continued. "He doesn't want to see you right now, Belle. Give him space. Come on. Let's continue this discussion in your room. Or we can talk about something else, if you want. Or you can kick me out and I'll finish my whittling in the lobby," he added, as he started to gather up his tools. "And Belle? Even if you _had_ let Gold explain himself at the town line going on two months ago, that _still_ wouldn't mean he has to listen to your explanations now—or any time before he's good and ready. If you respect him, then respect _that_."

Belle's jaw hung slightly open, as two spots of red appeared on her pale cheeks. Then, eyes blazing, she drew herself up smartly, spun on her heel, and marched out of the room, her high heels clomping on the carpeted floor. August followed. At first, he thought that she wasn't going to let him into the other room, but she held the door open for him. That courtesy extended, she sat down on the edge of her bed, turned on the TV, and put the volume up higher. Clearly, she wasn't interested in continuing their conversation at the moment.

August pressed his lips together. Then he opened his phone and texted Emma that the coast was clear.

* * *

True to Booth's word, the room was empty when Rumple and Emma entered. Rumple took several steps in and stood there, one white-knuckled hand gripping the top of his cane, a weary expression on his face. He was dimly aware that Emma was standing slightly behind him, waiting silently. He sighed. "I suppose some thanks are in order," he said, trying to sound dispassionate. "Though if you're planning to play peacemaker and try to smooth things over—"

"I think," Emma cut him off in mid-sentence, "that's probably something you and Belle need to work out for yourselves. Or not."

Gold nodded slowly.

"Anything I can do?"

Now he turned to face her. "Like what?" he demanded, and despite himself, frustration and exhaustion lent a rough edge to his voice. "We've established that you're going to keep your nose out of my relationships. We aren't going home. You've persuaded me to keep a roof over my head, at least for tonight. Is there anything else that you have in mind?"

"Hey, whoa," Emma said, taking an involuntary step backwards and raising her hands in a placating gesture. "I'm just asking. I'm sorry."

Gold's face seemed to crumple then. "Why did you bring me back here?" he asked, almost whispering now. "Why did you even come in the first place? Was it just to dangle hope before my eyes and then—" Emma's hands were back on his shoulders and he closed his eyes and let her draw him close. "I never should have come back," he murmured. "Bae would be alive. Belle would have forgotten the monster. And, perhaps, the rest of you, as well. Bae never should have brought me back…"

"Hey." And now, Emma _was_ hugging him and it wasn't anywhere near as uncomfortable as he'd thought it would be. "Hey. You're not a monster. You're a guy who keeps getting knocked down every time you try to get back on your feet and it… it _sucks_."

Startled by the crude phrasing, he tilted his head to look at her and she nodded. "Seriously. It's been one thing after another and just when you start thinking it can't get any worse, it's like Fate acts as if you've thrown down some kind of-of challenge!"

Her words struck a chord deep within him and he drew a shuddering breath. And then, she was guiding him to the edge of his bed and sitting down with her arm about his shoulders and he didn't know why he still felt like he was about to cry when he should have been cheering, because someone finally _got_ it and…

_And this means that the game is still on, Dearie. She's more than halfway on your side already. She knows how unjust all of this is. She wants to help. You can use that. Appeal to her sense of fairness. Play on her sympathies. You can still darken her heart before it's too late. All she needs is one… little… push…_

It was true. It was all true. And for a moment, he was seized by a paroxysm of hope. But then, he recalled the thought he'd pushed out of his head earlier and he understood…

If he died, then the Dark One—the force of Darkness that resided within him—would consume everything that remained of its human host and run amok with nothing to check it. If he could succeed in darkening Emma's heart, then with her blood in the Author's ink, his fate, his story could be changed _. But why would the Darkness want_ that _?_

The answer, Rumple realized, was that it _didn't_. It didn't want him to live at all. It simply wanted him to die in Storybrooke, so that _it_ would continue to exist.

He closed his eyes. How could he have forgotten what he'd told Regina, so long ago?

 _"You see, this is how it is. You think you're the diner at the feast, tasting the offerings. A little love, a little darkness. What you don't realize is, you_ are _the feast. And the darkness has tasted_ you _…_

_The darkness likes how you taste, dearie. It doesn't mind the bitter. And now that it's started the meal, it's going to finish it. You can no more fly from your fate than can that swan…"_

_So_ , he thought, more in sadness than in anger _,_ you're _betraying me too._

He wasn't sure if he was carrying on an imagined conversation with the imp in his head or if it surfaced in response to his accusation—after nearly two centuries, it was often hard to know where Rumpelstiltskin ended and the Darkness began. But in his mind, he heard the familiar giggle.

 _"Did you truly think otherwise? After all the time we've spent together? But worry not, dearie. Some part of you will still live on in me. You've served me well and some appreciation is warranted. It won't be oblivion, dearie. I'll have your essence. I'll keep your appearance. I'll even let you out to play, every now and again. And if you complete this final task and darken the savior's heart,"_ the voice turned crafty, _"then when I take over, I'll spare your wife and grandson any… unpleasantness. What do you say? One last deal? For… hee-hee old time's sake?"_

A tremor rippled through him. In his anguish, he could feel the savior's arm tighten around him in silent comfort. They truly did have much in common. It wouldn't take much to win her over. She'd had so many illusions shattered over the last few days. She was unsure where she had been confident, confused where she'd once had clarity. He could… could… Wait. If he was about to die anyway, why did he still need to darken her heart?

_Unless he didn't._

_Unless there was still a chance to reverse the damage without the Author and the blood of a dark savior._

The imp was giggling again, trying to distract him, but he sank deep into his own thoughts, drowning it out.

Five letters missing from the dagger. Ten remained. He wasn't dead yet. His heart was failing, but so long as it was still beating, it wasn't completely dark. Not yet.

But what would corrupting the savior do to it?

He suspected he knew the answer and it terrified him. But if he didn't…

Whether he did or didn't, the end result would be the same. Barring the sort of miracle he couldn't hope to obtain, he _was_ going to die. The only option he had open was…

… _Who he dragged down with him._

"Gold?" Emma's voice called him back. "Gold, are you okay? Do you need anything?"

Rumple shrugged himself out of her embrace and met her eyes. And as he did, he felt his fear subside. A strange calm seemed to drape itself about him like a cloak. He'd felt like this once before, over a year ago. And, just like he had then, he knew what he had to do. It scared him, but then, most things did. And the alternative was far, far worse. He nodded to Emma, took a deep breath, and spoke a single word.

"Go."

* * *

Henry had gone to bed over an hour ago, but he couldn't sleep. When Belle had given him the dagger, he'd locked it in his desk and ignored it. After all, if his grandfather didn't come back, it was just an ordinary weapon and not one that a twelve-year-old boy could expect to carry around without calling attention to himself. But after that phone call earlier…

He shouldn't be doing this, he thought as he switched on his reading lamp. Getting out of bed, he crossed the room to his desk and unlocked the bottom drawer, telling himself all the while that it was a bad idea. He'd only just checked the dagger a couple of hours ago. There shouldn't be any change this fast. Besides, his mother had warned him not to get too obsessed with it. The more time he spent looking at it and worrying about it, the more people were going to wonder what had him so preoccupied. But he had to see for himself. He had to know that everything was still…

"No…" he breathed. He slammed the drawer shut and willed himself not to open it again. If he opened it again, he'd have to admit that it wasn't his imagination playing tricks on him.

He'd have to accept that a sixth letter had vanished from the dagger and a seventh had been fading.

Henry wasn't ready to do that yet. He got up and grabbed the storybook from its customary place on his night table. He'd read it forwards and backwards at least a hundred times, but he was going to go for a hundred and one. Maybe he'd get lucky and spot something he'd overlooked before. Maybe there was some clue inside that might point to a way to help his grandfather.

Maybe.

* * *

Emma started to get up. "Okay," she said, "but if you change your mind, I'll just be next door."

Rumple shook his head. "No. Emma, you need to go. Now, tonight." He took a deep breath. "Drive Belle back to Storybrooke. And then… stay there. Both of you. Booth has already pledged to be with me until the end. That will suffice. But the two of you must leave tonight."

Emma's eyes widened. "Gold, what are you saying?"

"Thank you, Emma, for everything you've said and done for me. I appreciate it more than you will ever know. But you can't help me anymore, dearie," Rumple said gently. "You need to leave. Before it's too late."

"Too late for what?" Emma demanded. "I don't understand."

The imp was gnashing his teeth and throwing a tantrum in Rumple's head, calling him seven kinds of fool. He didn't care. He wasn't giving in to it. Not tonight. And if the savior would just stop asking questions and do as he said, not ever.

"You don't have to understand," he said. "Just know that it's for the best." He forced a smile. "It's the right thing to do, Emma. You know it is."

"The hell I do," Emma protested. "Look, I know you've been through the wringer tonight, and if you need to be alone right now, fine. But if you think I'm abandoning you—"

"You have to!" It came out louder than he'd planned and he took a moment to try to steady himself. "You have to," he repeated quietly, but he could see that she wasn't convinced. A look of pain crossed his features. He hadn't wanted to tell her everything. Hadn't wanted to snuff out the friendship and understanding that had so recently sprung up between them. But he wasn't fool enough to think that she was safe here, now. Between his survival instincts and the Darkness within him, the Darkness that was growing more demanding all the time, he couldn't trust himself not to corrupt her if she stayed. No matter the cost, she had to get away from him.

"Gold?" Emma rested her hand on his forearm. "Hey. Talk to me. Please."

Rumple took a deep breath. "The Author can't help me," he said haltingly. "Not without two items. A quill cut from a magical tree, and a… rather special ink."

"Um… okay," Emma said, almost at once. "S-so we'll find them. We'll make them. What do we need?"

He wasn't looking at her now. "I have the quill," he admitted. "Unless it was stolen in the break-in. But the ink requires a unique ingredient."

"Something from the Enchanted Forest?"

"In a manner of speaking," Gold gave a slight nod. "It requires the blood of a Dark savior."

"A Dark savior?" Emma repeated. "I'm not sure I understand."

He took another breath. "Saviors can be turned, just like any other human being. If I'm to live, then your soul must… darken, before it's too late. And it might already be. But even if it isn't… I don't want it to happen. But I also don't want to die. And I can't promise you that I won't set about… doing what I must to create that ink. By whatever means necessary." He felt oddly light-headed and his next breath seemed to roar in his ears, drowning out the imp's howls. His hands were ice-cold and he could feel sweat beading his forehead, but he forced himself to continue talking. "Now that you know the whole truth, Savior… Save yourself. Take Belle, go home, and…" He was not going to break down again. And if he was, it would be alone and in private. "Just go," he whispered, still not meeting her eyes.

He heard the savior suck in her breath. And then, her hands were back on his shoulders, clamping down on them like the weight of a yoke, so that he couldn't rise from the bed. "You stay right here," she said fiercely. "You hear me, Gold? Don't you dare move!"

He wasn't sure he could if he tried. As Emma's footsteps receded he felt weakness wash over him, as though the Darkness had been the only thing holding him up and giving him strength and now it was leaving him. He felt like he was sinking into the mattress. He assumed that by 'don't move,' the savior had meant 'don't _leave_ ,' because his hands were sweating again. As he wiped them on his trousers, the door opened again and Emma returned with Belle and August in tow. Before he could protest, Emma fixed him with a steely eye. "You tell them what you just told me," she ordered. "All of it."

He'd already admitted it once. He didn't know why she was forcing him to repeat it. Unless she thought that the others would try to convince her that she'd misunderstood. Well. He could make it clear she hadn't. He locked his eyes to hers and began again. When he was done, Emma turned to the others.

"Well?" she demanded.

Rumple wouldn't look at Belle. He didn't want to see her nod to realize her worst fears had just been confirmed. It was all he could do to direct his gaze to the puppet. August appeared to be stunned. "I… guess there isn't anything else we need to hear," he said slowly. "When do you want to get underway?"

Emma sighed. "Even if it weren't still coming down out there, it's getting up to eleven o'clock and I'd rather have a good night's sleep before I start a six-hour drive."

"Well we shouldn't delay too long," August said. "I guess we'd better start packing. We'll check out before breakfast and try to get out before rush hour."

So much for the puppet's word, Rumple thought miserably. Though he couldn't say he blamed him for reneging. Much. He heard a choking sound and realized that Belle was crying. He closed his eyes. So. It appeared that he wasn't finished hurting her, not yet. But soon.

"Uh… Gold?" Emma waited for him to open his eyes once more. "Make sure you don't leave anything behind. Normally, the hotel would mail it, but until we fix the town line," she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, " _again_ , it'll be a miracle if anything gets through."

The… town line? Gold gaped at her. Emma nodded, a slow smile spreading across her face as she pulled him into a hug.

"We're going home, Gold. _All_ of us. Including you."


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some dialogue lifted from S3E1: The Heart of the Truest Believer.
> 
> A/N: In medieval times, the veneur was the 'person acting as the superintendent of the chase and especially of hounds' (Source: Merriam-Webster).
> 
> A/N: Lana Parilla has stated in interviews that she acquired the scar on her lip during an attack by a dog when she was ten. I decided to play with that a little.

**Chapter Thirty-One**

_So. This is what it feels like_ , Rumple thought. He'd occasionally witnessed scenes like this, but he'd never been a part of one. Emma was still hugging him. August had come around behind him and was pounding him on the back. And he was smiling and tears were rolling down his cheeks and his heart was thumping as though it wanted to burst—but he knew it wasn't about to quite yet, and he didn't care that Booth was probably getting sawdust on his suit, or….

From behind Emma, Belle cleared her throat then and Emma grinned, released him, and moved out of the way. Rumple's smile dimmed slightly and though he did take a step forward, he was hesitant, even reluctant. And when Belle threw her arms about him, the hug he gave her in response was polite, almost perfunctory, and ended far more quickly than it would have in the past.

"Rumple?" Belle asked with some dismay, as he stepped back.

He shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I…" He pressed his lips together firmly, trying to stem the tide of emotion that roiled within. He did love her, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't pretend that their earlier conversation hadn't happened. He didn't want to cause her pain, but he couldn't deal with this now. Not so soon. And not with everything else that he was trying to process at the moment.

Belle gave him one tearful look and then she left the room hastily, though not before Rumple heard a ragged breath that might have been a sob.

Rumple watched her go and shook his head sadly. He waited for the door to close behind her before turning back to the others. "I don't understand," he said. "You now know exactly how dangerous it is for me to return. And evidently, until a moment ago, you had no plans to allow it. So, why…?" He took another breath. "What was it changed your mind?"

Emma glanced at August for a moment. Then she turned back to Gold. "I… guess it sort of goes back to something you told me on our way to Neverland, right before you struck off on your own…"

* * *

_Things had been happening so quickly in Storybrooke, ever since she'd broken the curse. It was almost as though time itself was trying to make up for having been out of commission for twenty-eight years. Between getting zapped to the Enchanted Forest, coming back to find Regina trying to get Henry back by whatever means necessary, Cora… Hook… To say nothing of their Manhattan adventure, reconnecting with Neal, finding out he was Gold's son… Well, now Neal had fallen through a portal and was almost certainly dead, Henry had been kidnapped, she was on a pirate ship bound for Neverland, and she finally had time to think. And all she could think was that if she'd taken Henry with her that night and left Storybrooke, none of this would have happened._

_Mary Margaret—she still couldn't quite wrap her head around 'Mom' most of the time—had blasted her when she'd come back from that abortive flight, accused her of reverting, of being a lousy mother (well, maybe that was what Emma had read into it, rather than what Mary Margaret had actually said), and basically told her to grow up and be a parent. So, she'd decided to put Henry first and bow out, leaving him with Regina._

_Then Henry had taken a bite from that turnover and Emma's world had turned suddenly, irrevocably upside-down._

_She'd done her best to cope and she'd actually thought she was handling the whole… being a fairytale princess with parents who were roughly her own age and fighting ogres and climbing beanstalks and finding out that Henry's father was Rumpelstiltskin's son… But really, she'd just been dealing with stuff as it came up. She'd never actually had time to catch her breath and think._

_Until now. The voyage to Neverland wasn't really all that long. Emma didn't think they'd been at sea for more than five days, a week tops, but it was a quiet week and Emma had been doing a lot of taking stock. And maybe it was childish of her, but she still wished that she'd taken Henry away that night. Or that her parent had never stuck her in that enchanted wardrobe and let her spend twenty-eight years believing she'd been chucked on the side of the highway._

_So, when Mary Margaret picked the worst possible time to tell her not to blame herself for what had happened, Emma had lashed out with, "I don't. I blame you." Which_ was _stupid. After all, it was Tamara who had shot Neal. It was Tamara—and Greg—who had activated the failsafe and kidnapped Henry. But it was her parents who had gotten her to shed her customary cynicism and start believing in happy endings, which made all of_ this _seem like some cruel joke of Hope or Fate or whatever._

_And in the middle of it all, Gold had come up on deck wearing some sort of armor Emma had never seen before and announced that he was leaving them now. And when Emma had demanded to know his reasoning, he'd told her—quite coolly—that it was because he wanted to succeed. Stung, Emma had asked him why he thought she was going to fail. And his response had been quick and brutal._

_"Well, how could you_ _not? You don't believe in your parents, or in magic, or even yourself."_

_And when she'd pointed out that she'd slain a dragon and was fairly certain that she believed, he'd countered with, "Only what was shown to you. When have you ever taken a real leap of faith? You know, the kind where there's absolutely no proof?"_

_He'd had a bit more to say, but Emma couldn't help but wonder whether the guy who'd masterminded this whole show—come up with the Dark Curse so he could follow his son, arranged for her parents to send her through the wardrobe before the curse hit, manipulated everything behind the scenes—had ever done the same…_

* * *

Gold shook his head. "Working magic requires that leap," he said slowly. "Something I might have remembered better, had the prophecy of my imminent demise not been hanging over my head."

"If you mean that protection spell I cast in your shop after we got back from New York the last time? Even that, you had to show me," Emma replied.

"Yes, but you had to believe you could cast it first. And instruction isn't the same as demonstration." He shook his head. "You _had_ taken that leap at least once before Neverland. But your talent was still too raw, too new. You did require further 'hand-holding' and I had too much on my mind to provide it."

"Then," Emma added.

Gold nodded. "Then. So." He raised his eyebrows. "All of this…"

Emma sighed. "What you said back then got me thinking. It's not that you never do…" She broke off then, remembering what Belle had told them earlier and hoping she wasn't going to sprinkle salt in an unhealed wound. "…the right thing," she finished weakly. "It's that you don't usually do it unless there's also something in it for you. I… guess we—August and I—sort of thought that if you'd do it when you didn't have a reason to expect anything good to come of it, that would be proof that you were at least trying to fight your Darkness. Only…"

"Only," Gold nodded his understanding, "you couldn't tell me this, because had I known, then I would have had an ulterior motive." He was only mildly surprised to realize that he didn't resent their manipulation. It was, he could admit to himself, the sort of thing he likely would have done had the situation been reversed.

"Yeah."

"And, don't think we didn't notice some of the other stuff you were doing," August broke in. "But it's not like you couldn't have guessed that doing us a few favors without a deal might chalk you up some brownie points. What you told Emma and the rest of us just now, though… You knew what you stood to lose by telling us, and you _still_ told us, consequences be damned."

A smile crossed Gold's face briefly, to be replaced by a puzzled frown. "Please," he said, "don't think me unappreciative or ungrateful, but you must be aware that the danger to the savior still exists. And it will be all the more acute once we're back in Storybrooke and I've access to magic once more." He looked at Emma. "I tried to send you away so that you would be safe, should my resolve weaken. If I return with you…"

Emma sighed. "Two things you're overlooking, Gold. Or maybe it's one thing with two parts, I don't know. First, knowing what's at stake means I know what to watch out for. And second," she grinned and her gaze flicked to August, "having an extra moral compass keeping an eye on things and telling me when I'm getting too close to the edge has been working out pretty well, so far."

August held up his hand in a guilty wave. "Hi."

Gold's jaw dropped as comprehension dawned and he blurted, _"You knew?"_

* * *

The page was swimming before Henry's eyes. He was never up this late on a school night and he knew he should probably be sleeping, but his grandfather was depending on him—even if he didn't know it. Maybe it would help him focus if he remembered what was at stake.

Henry padded back to his desk, unlocked the drawer, and pulled out the dagger. Then his breath caught. Wide-eyed he checked the blade again, certain that his eyes had to be playing tricks on him. And then, he was running down the hall, forgetting that he was supposed to be in bed, forgetting that he'd promised his mother he was going to keep the dagger locked away until they found a hiding place, forgetting that ten minutes after he'd turned out the light, Mom had knocked on his door and let him know that, since Will Scarlett was now in a cell at the Sheriff's station, she and Grandpa were driving back to New York tomorrow morning and that Grandma would be there when he woke up to make sure he got on the bus okay. (She'd mentioned that Grandma could walk with him instead, but first, she needed to be there early to prepare, and second, it was going to be weird walking to school with his teacher—even if she _was_ his grandmother. He'd take the bus and he just hoped it wouldn't hurt Grandma's feelings.)

He held the dagger before him as he ran, not thinking about the danger as he hollered, "Mom! MOM!" at the top of his lungs.

* * *

August let out a long breath. "Let's just say, over the years, I've done some investigating into that publishing company that put me back on the right track. I learned a few things about the current Author, not to mention a bunch of his predecessors. I don't know _everything_ , of course. But the properties of the ink and what goes into making it? Yeah, I've known about those for some time."

"When we went to Snug Harbor," Emma cut in, "after you and Belle took off, August warned me about what you might be planning. Since then, he's been…" she glanced back and August and grinned, "trying to keep me anchored and," she rolled her eyes, "generally being a bigger pain in the butt than usual."

"Hey, it was all for a good cause."

Gold was shaking his head, as much in disbelief that they hadn't gone running back to Storybrooke as soon as they understood the risk as in confusion. "How—where would you have learned as much as you did?" he demanded. "There's precious little magic to be found in this realm. Where would you have tracked down _any_ pertinent information?"

August tilted his head to one side. "The rare reading room at the New York Public Library, the Conjuring Arts Research Center on West 30th… I even lucked out and found a couple of tomes at the Strand." He shrugged. "Sometimes, when you're on a quest, all you need to do is take the first step on your own and the rest just falls into place."

Gold gave him a pained look. "For you, perhaps." Then he sat up sharply. "There's a conjuring arts center? Here?"

August shrugged. "Yeah."

"And you never once suggested we take an excursion there?" He hadn't minded the sight-seeing they'd done, but surely Booth might have guessed he'd be interested in a place like _that_.

August sighed. "I thought about it," he said. "But…"

_But you didn't fully trust me around anything that smacked of magic_ , Rumple thought. _Well, let's hear you say it aloud, dearie._ "But?" he repeated. "But what?"

August gave him an apologetic smile. "But visits are by appointment only and generally have to be booked about a week in advance. And with your life on the line, I didn't want to book anything that far ahead, not when we had to be ready to pack up and ship out at short notice." He punched Gold's arm lightly. "Save it for next time, eh?"

Gold was still troubled. "Even so, this evening, I was able to find the strength to abandon my earlier plan. Tomorrow, that strength may be in far shorter supply. The risk…"

Emma sighed. "Gold, if you don't want me to darken my soul, then explain to me how abandoning my son's grandfather to die in a strange city won't have an effect. You told me not so long ago that I always do the right thing? Gold. This is it."

"This is senseless," he countered, even as he felt an unaccustomed rush of warmth and affection. "Endangering yourself…"

"Maybe," Emma admitted. "But maybe not." She looked at August. "That theory I had? Tell me straight: how half-baked is it?"

August frowned and shook his head slowly. "I don't know. It made sense to me, but… just because I know a little more about the Author and—more to the point—the Sorcerer than you do, doesn't make me an expert. Not by any stretch."

"But you think I could be right."

"Maybe."

"What are you talking about?" Gold asked testily.

Emma hesitated. "Could I tell you in the car tomorrow? It's going to be a long drive and there'll be plenty of time to talk." She gave him an apologetic look. "It's not that I want to leave you hanging, but when I tell you what I've been thinking about, you're either going to laugh in my face and tell me in thirty seconds why I'm barking up the wrong tree… or we're going to be hashing this out for hours. And we really need to pack and get on the road early." She frowned. "Just… answer me one question: if you could get the right ink without turning me Dark, would you?"

Gold was frowning again. "I'm not sure the point of indulging in hypotheticals right now. The ink requires the blood of a Dark savior. There is no other ingredient that would even come close to being a substitute."

"Indulge her," August said with a faint smile. "Straight answer, no hidden meanings, just answer yes or no. Would you?"

"Yes, of course," Gold said. "But—"

Emma smiled. "That's all I needed to hear." She squeezed his shoulder. "Get packed. Try to get some sleep. I want to be on the interstate before eight tomorrow." She was still smiling. "It's going to work out."

He managed a nod. Then Emma was gone and he was left trying to believe that the last half hour had truly happened.

Booth grabbed a battered leather valise, set it down on his bed and unzipped it. "Guess we'd better get started," the puppet murmured.

As Rumple watched him begin to transfer rolled-up socks from the dresser drawer to the valise, it began to sink in. It all _had_ happened. They _were_ going home. And he still wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it.

Particularly not when the imp in his head woke up with a giggle.

* * *

By the time Regina was seven, she was observant enough to realize that her mother was feared by virtually everyone. And while she loved her father dearly, she couldn't help but notice that he was near-totally cowed by his wife. Privately, he was her ally. But when Cora punished her for some perceived slight or mischief, his protests had been timid and ineffectual. And when Regina came to him for comfort after the fact, he'd soothed her with words and pony rides and—daringly—sweetmeats, even though Cora would have made known her disapproval of the latter most keenly, all the more so as Regina entered her teens. Cora never failed to remind Regina of her place in the succession: ninth in line for the throne and falling farther back in the succession with the birth of each royal cousin. Her best hope of ruling was to marry a prince and, for that, she'd need every advantage—including a trim figure— _particularly_ with the scar on her upper lip.

Cora never seemed to remember that her daughter had gotten that scar during a botched assassination attempt. She never spoke of it, but from the details Regina had been able to garner, her mother had taken and crushed the heart of her veneur's wife for some perceived slight. Half mad with grief, on the next hunt, he'd contrived to lead his Ladyship away from the rest of the party and, once they'd gone far enough, set his hounds upon her.

Regina had been ten and, while she could barely remember a time when riding hadn't been part of her life, this was her first hunt and she was more than a little nervous. So when she'd looked about and seen her mother's palfrey vanishing in the trees, she'd ambled after her. And when she'd seen the dogs move to attack, Regina had urged Rocinante forward, interposing herself between the hounds and her mother, just as one leaped forward. Somehow, her face had gotten in the way of the dog's claw and left her with a permanent memory of that day.

Cora had been furious. She'd completely disregarded that her daughter had been trying to save her life.

_"I was never in any danger! But you… The main thing you had going for you was your looks. In a few years, Regina, we'll be trying to find a match for you. And I have to tell you, my dear, that you are far from the cleverest or wealthiest or the best-connected prospect out there. But until today, I still held out hope that you'd at least be the fairest of them all. Well,_ " she'd sighed, _"I suppose we'll simply have to work with what we can."_

Then she'd put Regina on bread-and-water suppers for a week and, when the week was up, resolved that if her daughter's face was no longer flawless, her figure would be. Apple cider vinegar in water replaced the wines and ales that had been served to her at meals. She ate so many grapefruits that she developed painful canker sores in her mouth. Fortunately, cabbage soup had been a short-lived experiment after other, more embarrassing, physical symptoms developed.

Eventually, to Regina's relief, her mother relented and allowed her a more varied diet. But desserts and sweetmeats were seldom permitted, which made her father's surreptitious gifts all the more cherished.

Still, the hunting incident had left another scar on the impressionable young girl. After that day, she frequently dreamed of assassination attempts and woke up shrieking. Cora's reaction had been to icily tell her to 'toughen up'. When that hadn't worked, she'd moved her daughter's bedroom to a tower in a different wing of the castle so that her own sleep would be undisturbed.

Eventually, the nightmares came less often. The fear of assassination never quite subsided, though. And after her husband's funeral, after the people over whom she ruled had come to see her as both usurper and monster, after her stepdaughter had escaped death and, through her continued existence, threatened everything Regina had attained, she had had good reason for that fear.

So, when Henry ran into her bedroom shortly before midnight, jolting her out of slumber, all she registered was that someone had just burst in brandishing a knife.

She sat bolt upright and drew one arm back on reflex, conjuring a fireball. Then, in the sudden illumination, she got a good look at the intruder's face. "H-Henry?"

Wide-eyed and suddenly pale, Henry whispered, "Mom?"

With a thought, the fireball dissipated and she flicked on the light as he walked toward her. "Oh, Henry," she whispered, pulling him into a hug, " _Never_ do that again."

"I won't," Henry promised. "I promise. Sorry. I had to show you something and I didn't want to wait till morning in case you were already gone when I got up…"

* * *

Belle was sitting up in bed reading when Emma returned. She set her book aside with a frown. "How is he?"

Emma hesitated. "I don't know. Relieved? Nervous? Shell-shocked? Take your pick. Did you pack up?"

"Uh… yeah," Belle nodded. "Does he… does he want to see me?"

Emma gave Belle an apologetic smile. "I think he needs a little space right now."

Belle nodded sadly. "I didn't think," she admitted. "I mean, earlier."

"I know. But it still must have hurt to hear. Maybe in the morning, things will…"

"I don't think I'll ever get to sleep tonight," Belle murmured. "Why can't he, at least, give me a chance to try to apologize?"

Emma sighed. "I wouldn't push. He's had a lot on his mind and you just… said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Give him a chance to process."

"I know," Belle admitted. "But this is the first time he—" She broke off abruptly. "Well, you saw what happened in the other room just before. I don't…" She took another breath. "Well, I mean, after everything he's done, you'd think he wouldn't be so quick to push away the people who still haven't given up on him."

Emma sucked in her breath. "Belle," she said slowly, "could you… uh… think about what you just said?"

Belle blinked. "I only said that—"

"I heard," Emma cut her off.

"Well, it's true," Belle insisted. "I know I got a bit carried away, but—"

"Yeah," Emma nodded. "From what you told us earlier, it sounds like it. And I feel horrible that I can't find the right words to say," she said carefully. "I mean, I'm supposed to be the savior; you'd think I could put this right. Instead, I'm left feeling like a failure and it's just not a great feeling, you know?" She took went to the closet and took down the few articles of clothing she'd hung up. "Sorry to let you down."

Belle tilted her head to one side. "Emma," she replied through clenched teeth, "with all due respect, this isn't about you!"

Emma nodded again. "You're right," she said without a moment's hesitation. "It's not. What were you saying a minute ago about Gold again?"

Belle's hand flew to her mouth as she realized what Emma was hinting at. Then, without another word, she got up from the bed, stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

_What on earth_ , Belle wondered as she struggled to get a grip on her emotions, fingers clamped vise-like around the sides of the porcelain sink, _was the matter with her?_ She kept trying to do the right thing, but her words and actions kept coming out wrong. She knew the accusation she'd flung at Rumple had been out of line, the product of too many doubts and second guesses, too many confused feelings, too much going back and forth on whether she could trust him, going from being near-paralyzed by indecision to feeling like she had to do something, anything…

_The wrong thing._

She kept on doing the wrong bloody thing, no matter how hard she tried. The more she wanted to try to reconcile with Rumple, the more she seemed to push him away. It was easy to blame it all on him. So easy. After all, he was the Dark One. Making bad choices was something _he_ did. It had to be tied up with his Darkness and the dagger's curse and…

_…And whether either of us meant it or not, I did lose my way with him. I used to know the right thing to do, but now everything's muddled._ Perhaps, her father had been right.

_"You don't understand what he'll do to you! What he's already done!"_

She hadn't listened then, but maybe she should have. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. And then her eyes popped open wide as a new thought struck her.

_If he's the reason I keep making the wrong choices, then how am I to explain leaving Anna hanging from a cliff while I took off after a memory rock?_

Much as she tried to shy away from the obvious answer, she again heard that hateful reflection in the Snow Queen's mirror repeating that she had _never_ been hero material. She'd tried to be. She had. But there was always that rebellious selfish spark she'd worked to suppress that got so… _sick_ of being kind and altruistic. Of putting herself last, because that was what heroes were supposed to do.

_I was already betrothed to a monster when Rumple demanded I go with him. With Gaston, I protested. Father didn't listen. He told me I'd be our duchy's hero, but we both knew I was a bargaining chip, nothing more. I had no agency, no…_ Her eyes opened even wider as she completed the sentence aloud. "…no power."

When Rumple had named her as the price for his aid, how much of her acceptance had been seizing the chance to be a hero _her_ way and how much had been a way to rail against the fate her father had intended for her? _If I was to be given to a monster for the sake of peace, then at the very least,_ I _was going to choose the monster. It was going to be my decision and nobody was going to control me or take away my right to… to choose._

Suddenly, Belle felt nauseous. Had she ever, even once, done the right thing for the right reasons? When she'd made her accusation earlier tonight, had she merely overlooked the events that refuted it, _or had she been projecting?_

Her gorge rose and then, she was kneeling on the bathroom floor, retching into the toilet. When nothing came up, she lowered the seat again and sat down upon it, hugging herself, sobbing, and not giving a damn if Emma could hear it.

She still felt horrible over what she'd said to Rumple. But she thought she was starting to understand what August and Emma had been telling her earlier. She couldn't _make_ Rumple listen to her apologies. Not when too many people—herself included—had been making him do all manner of things, for a variety of reasons, both good and bad. But good or bad, Rumple hadn't had any choice in the matter. He'd been compelled—whether by the dagger, by blackmail, by obligation, or by fear—to comply with what had been demanded.

And then she realized why August had been so adamant about not striking deals with Rumple this time. For over a week, Rumple's decisions had truly been his own. He hadn't been tricked or blackmailed into doing anything he didn't want to. He hadn't had to cast about looking for loopholes to exploit. And he'd been starting to open up, starting to relax, starting to lower walls that he'd seldom dropped—not even when the two of them were alone together.

_And then, I had to go and ruin things._

She took another breath. All right. All right, then. She'd back off for now. And she'd try to watch for the slightest indication that his pain was subsiding and he was ready to hear her apologies.

She hoped it wouldn't take too long.

* * *

When she got out of the bathroom, Emma was talking animatedly on her phone.

"What? Regina, are you sure?" A pause. "No, no, I understand. But if Henry's right… Yeah, we're heading back right after breakfast. Hang on, let me think." She covered the mouthpiece and turned to Belle.

"They caught Will," she said softly. "Which means that Regina and my dad are setting out from Storybrooke at around the same time we're going to be leaving Manhattan. We're going to have to meet up with them on the way, so Regina can pass us the scroll." She flushed slightly. "I don't suppose you remember where it was we stopped for gas on the way here? It was around halfway."

Belle thought about it. "It wasn't a rest area, was it?" she asked. Then, answering her own question with a shake of her head, she went on, "No, we'd passed one not far back. We were in… Connecticut. Hang on." She pulled out her own phone. "Okay, we'd passed that national forest, so the rest area was in Willington. We were seeing signs for Manchester…" She zoomed in on the map. "It was either in Tolland or Vernon. There was a Mr. Cluck's across the road."

"You've got a good memory," Emma smiled. Then her expression lifted. "Wait, I think I kept the gas receipt." She spoke briefly into her phone again and then grabbed her wallet off of her night table. "Tolland." She took another moment to give Regina directions and an approximate time to meet before ending the call. Then she turned back to Belle.

"You okay?"

Belle sighed. "Not really," she admitted, "but I guess I'm better than I was before."

"Want to talk?"

She shook her head. "Maybe in a day or two," she replied, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face. Earlier, she'd felt like everyone was ranged against her. Maybe they just weren't ranging against Rumple.

"What else did Regina have to say?" she asked, remembering Emma's excitement earlier. "Did Henry find something?"

Emma hesitated. "I… I don't know. That's the thing. He woke up Regina about an hour ago, to show her another letter fading on the dagger."

Belle closed her eyes. "Oh no," she whispered.

"Yeah. The thing is, according to Henry, an hour earlier, not only had that letter completely vanished, _but the one next to it was half-gone, too!_ "

Belle's eyes sprang open. "What? Emma! Do you know what that might mean?" Belle exclaimed.

"Yeah," Emma said, sounding a bit more subdued. "But here's the thing: Henry was already in bed when he went to check the dagger the first time. Then he decided to check the book to see if maybe he could find some clue that would help Gold. So, he was already tired. He read for a bit and then he checked the dagger again and found that the letter that had started to fade had gone solid and the other one was coming back only…" She shook her head sadly. "Only there's another explanation, too. Which is that Henry _dreamed_ he'd checked the dagger, woke up and started to read. Then he checked it for real and—"

"And saw the sixth letter fading, and thought it was coming back."

"I've had waking dreams before. They can seem pretty real. And I don't want to give Gold false hope, when—"

"Emma!" Belle exclaimed again, and Emma couldn't tell if she was trying not to laugh or trying not to cry, "It's just plain hope."

Emma blinked. And then a slow answering smile appeared on her own face. "You're right," she said. "But just to be safe, I'll call Henry in the morning and see if there've been any more changes." She looked at the time. "We're leaving early tomorrow and unless we know for sure that there's good news, I'm not banging on the guys' door at five to one in the morning."

For a moment, Belle looked like she wanted to argue. Then she nodded reluctantly, picked up her book again, and tried to lose herself in the story. It didn't work.

* * *

Henry wasn't picking up his phone when Emma called early the next morning. She sighed and turned to Belle. "We'll be leaving in the next couple of hours. Six hours after that, we'll be home and Henry can tell Gold himself." She moved over to the window, pushed back the curtains and winced. "Maybe seven," she amended.

Belle looked out at the swirling snow. "Will we make it home in that?"

"I think so," Emma nodded. "Once we make it out of the city, the roads should be clear enough. The hard part is going to be getting out of the city. We might want to just eat breakfast on the road."

* * *

In the end, August ran out to the deli and returned with muffins for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch, and some bottled water and pop. After making do with something that came out of the vending machine when they hit the 'coffee' selection button and bore some passing similarity to what they were used to, they headed down to the parking garage.

"I think it's your turn for the front," Emma murmured to Gold and neither she nor the other two missed his relieved nod. Belle winced, but voiced no protest as she got into the back seat on the driver's side. August climbed in through the other door.

"Try not to ask me anything until we're at least over the bridge and, hopefully, out of traffic," Emma cautioned. "Visibility isn't the greatest and I need to focus." She sighed. "I caught the weather report. It's going to be like this clear up the coast, but the road crews are working and, at least, it's not going to be icy."

"Think it'll get as far as Storybrooke?" August asked.

Emma shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like they'd mention it, even if the town showed up on a state map. If Regina's curse had brought everyone to Bangor, maybe I'd have an answer," she replied without heat.

As she turned her key in the ignition, she was aware that Gold was sitting rigidly, the fingers of his right hand clamped firmly around the door handle, his left arm at his side, fist clenched in his lap. She reached over and patted his hand. "It's going to be okay," she murmured.

He closed his eyes and gave her an almost imperceptible nod. Then she put her foot on the gas and slowly drove out of the garage.

* * *

Gold didn't say a word until the sign for New Rochelle came into view. Then he cleared his throat. "Last night," he said, "you mentioned that you had something you wanted to discuss with me and asked whether it could wait until we were underway. I believe it's time."

Emma nodded. "Yeah," she said. "You're right. Okay. I guess…" she hesitated. "I guess it kinda goes back to Snug Harbor again, when August told me about the ink and what needed to happen for you to get it. It bugged me," she said simply.

Gold snorted at that. "I suppose I can understand why."

"Yeah, but not just that. No, it was the whole… premise. First off, it's not like the Sorcerer is Voldemort, right? I can say his name?"

"What, Merlin?" Gold chuckled. "No harm in that, dearie."

"Okay, just checking. And yeah, I was going to confirm that the Sorcerer was Merlin; thanks for doing that. And he's Light magic?"

"I should certainly say so," Gold nodded. "Nearly as light as yours, come to think of it."

"August said as much," Emma nodded, paying no attention to the sign that indicated that they would encounter four different gas stations if they took the next exit. " _That_ bugged me. I mean, think about it. If you're so… Light, why in the world would you set things up so that you'd need to darken someone's _soul_ for a bottle of ink?"

She cast a quick sidelong glance at Gold and noted that his jaw was hanging slightly agape.

"That," he managed, "is actually an excellent question."

She let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "Thanks. I… still don't have an answer for it, but I started thinking, really thinking, about what it would mean in practice. Because from what August told me, there've been Authors for a pretty long time, right?"

"Centuries," Gold nodded.

"And not just one at a time, but maybe one for each realm?"

"If not more."

"Right. And I'm guessing that saviors don't go dark that often. So, how does it work? Is there some lab where they've got a Dark savior strapped down on a cot, and every so often, someone comes around to do a blood draw? Because that doesn't sound like anything Good would want to be a part of either."

"I can't disagree," Gold nodded. "However, I think I can voice a suggestion, based on personal experience. As you're aware," he said in a quieter voice, "part of the price that comes with my own power is that I am tethered to an object of power. Whosoever holds it can summon me, at any time, wherever I am—saving, of course, a land without magic—and I have no choice but to comply with the command. With something like that on the table, there'd be no need for long-term incarceration. The Sorcerer could allow such saviors considerable freedom, for the most part, simply calling them when he wants them."

"Yeah," Emma nodded. "I thought about that, too. But it still seems like a hell of a lot of work. I mean, there aren't any saviors around these parts besides me, right?"

"I'd think not."

"So, to find one, turn her—or him, set up the spell… and we still run into my first question: How the hell is this Light Magic?" Gold opened his mouth to respond, but Emma kept talking. "And then it hit me: why would the Sorcerer go to the trouble of finding and turning a _light savior_ …"

Gold's jaw went absolutely slack as he realized what she was about to say.

"…If he already has a Dark One?"


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

Rumple felt as though he'd just been pulled out of one reality and flung willy-nilly into another. He wasn't sure whether he was more astounded at Emma's hypothesis, or at the realization that he'd never once considered her arguments himself. Because the savior was absolutely correct. There was no way that any practitioner of Light Magic would set up a system that hinged on darkening anyone's soul. Taking advantage of an already-darkened soul, though? Now that _was_ within the realm of possibility. Based solely on his personal knowledge and experience, he could name several such actions committed by so-called heroes of his own acquaintance—everything from Snow and Charming's abduction of Maleficent's unborn child to Booth's excuse for posing as Bae. He didn't have to rack his brains much to understand the rationalization for it. He'd heard it stated baldly not even two weeks earlier.

_"…if half of what Smee had told me about the Dark One was true, then anything I did to him was no more than he deserved."_

Rumple tried to distance himself from the pain of those words. He couldn't afford to get bogged down in emotion when dispassion was called for. He had to take himself out of the equation, approach the problem as though he didn't have a vested interest in its solution. If the Sorcerer subscribed to a similar belief to the one which Booth had admitted to espousing, then yes, Rumple could see how such a one might make use of an already corrupt soul, if it suited his purpose. But undertaking the extra step of corrupting a soul as yet unsullied, no Emma was right. A practitioner of Light magic who resorted to such actions would instantly cease to be a practitioner of Light magic. And Rumple should have realized that almost immediately.

Still, prudence made him hedge and reply, "While there may be something in what you suggest, I think it's a little premature to assume you've uncovered something that mages more experienced than you have never spotted. It could be that their extensive knowledge and experience taught them long ago that such a theory could not be possible."

"Like time travel?" Belle suggested softly and Rumple froze.

"She's got a point," August tossed in. "Merlin has a certain reputation. It's not that hard to see how others of that calling would… back away from questioning or challenging his actions. And if Merlin only works Light magic and Merlin set it up that the Author's ink needs the blood of a Dark savior, then simple logic would seem to say that using the blood of a Dark savior would have to involve Light magic." August frowned. "Unless _Merlin_ turned."

"Unlikely, dearie," Rumple said thoughtfully. "Centuries of authors, remember. Darkness may be able to conceal itself for a time, but the truth does out itself." His lips twisted into an ironic smile. "After all, villains don't get happy endings."

"Can someone be dark without being a villain, though?" Belle asked.

Gold blinked. "Theoretically, I suppose. But practically? I'd say not."

August nodded in the rearview mirror. "Okay. Table that for now. So we're back to Light magic needing the blood of a Dark savior for the Author to do their job." He made a face. "Somehow."

"But if the only way to be sure of a regular supply of ink," Emma picked up on the thread, "is to have a Dark savior around when you need one—which means not waiting around hoping for a savior to fall—"

"And somehow," August interrupted her, "the visual of a Light wizard rooting for a savior to go bad because he's down to his last inkpot just feels _wrong_ —"

"—Then," Emma finished without missing a beat, "I'm going to go out on a limb and say that turning someone was never the plan. It has to mean something else." Emma glanced at Gold and smiled again.

"As you can guess, August and I have been over this a couple of times in the last few days. And the more I started thinking, the more I started wondering whether there was some sort of-of balance between light saviors and dark ones and then, it hit me that maybe, you—or one of the earlier Dark Ones—were somehow connected."

"Well," Gold managed, "there's one flaw in your hypothesis, dearie. I'm afraid I've never been a savior, Light, Dark, or otherwise."

"I think you could make a case for our being opposite numbers, at least part of the time," Emma pointed out.

Gold was silent.

"But other than that…?" August said after a moment. "I mean, Merlin _made_ your dagger. That was _his_ hat you found. And, I guess, his house, too. I don't think it's coincidental that his fingerprints are suddenly turning up all over the place. I just don't know why… yet."

Gold didn't speak again for several moments. Emma glanced at him a couple of times to check whether he'd nodded off, but his eyes were open and narrowed in thought.

"You raise some intriguing questions," he said finally. "Ones I can't answer in any satisfactory manner at present. But I do believe," he continued, "that your hypothesis might be an avenue worth pursuing. In Storybrooke." He hesitated. "I can help to point you in the right direction, but the bulk of the research will likely need to be yours, Emma."

"M-mine?" Emma exclaimed, startled. "You've got to be kidding. Unless your books are written in English…" She remembered the spells that Regina had shown her, written in a script she couldn't read, but with letters that appeared just familiar enough to make her think that she was looking at a really weird font and not a whole other language. _Elvish. How the hell was she supposed to read Elvish?_

"They're not," Gold confirmed. "And my books won't help you." He took another breath. "You'll need to visit the convent and hope that the… sisters will part with theirs. Booth," he continued, "I'm aware that you've some skill at research, but the nature of the project—unless I'm much mistaken—will limit your usefulness in this regard." His voice was almost a whisper. "Will you help her, Belle?"

Belle sucked in her breath. "They're written in Fairy," she said, just as softly. "Aren't they?"

"If the books contain the answers that you—that _w-we_ —seek, then they almost certainly would be. I don't know that they do," Gold admitted. "I told you long ago that I can't read that language, so I certainly can't say what's in the convent's library. But I'll warrant that their collection of magical tomes is as extensive as mine. Just… different titles. Will you help her?" he repeated. "Once the mother superior knows what the savior is looking for, well, I can't imagine that she'd be inclined to do anything that might benefit me. Best she gives you access to the books and leaves you to your own devices."

August exhaled noisily and shook his head with an apologetic smile. "Yeah, you've got me there," he admitted. "I can't read Fairy either."

"I could do it myself," Belle said hesitantly.

Gold shook his head. "The savior's come this far on her own. She's earned the right to see it through."

"I-I don't mind," Emma said. "It's not like I'd be able to understand much of those books if I could read them myself."

Gold smiled then. "It's not a question of whether you mind, dearie. This isn't the first intellectual leap you've made recently. It's time you acquired the tools to judge for yourself when a theory has merit, as opposed to running to a more-experienced practitioner for corroboration each time you have an insight." His smile grew slightly wider. "There's more to magic than spells, savior. I think you're ready to begin learning the rest of it."

Emma wondered whether her cheeks were glowing and she was sure that the smile on her own face could best be described as 'silly'. But she took a deep breath and flicked her eyes up to the rearview mirror, found Belle's for a moment, and said, "Yeah. Okay. How about it, Belle?"

"Uh… sure," Belle replied. "Yeah, we can go tonight, even."

Emma grinned. It wasn't just because of Gold's praise or the prospect of deepening her understanding of magic. It hadn't been much—just a quick exchange of necessary questions and answers—but Gold and Belle had just had a civil conversation. Things were definitely looking up.

* * *

There was a familiar Mercedes in the Mr. Cluck's parking lot when Emma turned off the interstate at Tolland. "Anyone want to stretch their legs?" she invited as she pulled into the lot.

"I could use some real coffee," August remarked. "If we've got a couple of minutes."

"Maybe it's silly," Belle said slowly, "but we never did visit a place like this in New York and there's nothing quite like it in Storybrooke."

"Uh… Belle?" August ventured, "that's not a bug; it's a feature." He laughed as Emma settled into a spot by the Mercedes and turned off the engine. "Come on."

Emma glanced at Rumple. "Gold?"

He hesitated. "A bit of air might be welcome. And, at least, they maintain this place," he added, noting that there was only a thin layer of snow dusting the lot, high piles against the fence bearing testimony that a maintenance crew had been busy.

"Rumple?" Belle asked. "Would-would you like anything from inside?"

For a moment, both Belle and Emma wondered whether he would reply. But then, his mouth quirked up in a ghost of a smile. "The doctors advised me to avoid these establishments after my collapse. And while I suspect that their advice may not be relevant to my actual condition, I'd prefer not to chance it when we're mere hours from home."

"Not everything's deep-fried," Emma pointed out. When Gold merely shook his head, she shrugged. "If you change your mind," she said, "there's a drive through. We can grab something on our way out." Gold didn't reply and she shrugged once more. Then she opened her door and Gold did the same.

Once they'd moved the seats up so Belle and August could get out, Emma turned to Gold. "I… know things are a little awkward right now, but if you want to wait a couple of minutes and go inside on your own, I promise not to drive off without you."

Gold smiled. "You don't need to promise that, dearie. I shouldn't think you'd have contemplated it. Come. Patience has never been one of Regina's more sterling qualities."

"She's not the one I'm worried about," Emma admitted, falling into step a half pace behind him.

"You're still angry with them," he stated.

Emma nodded. "Don't worry," she added. "I'm not about to cause a public scene in the middle of the lot."

Gold looked as though he was about to say something else, but he dug his cane into the thin layer of snow once more and continued toward the car.

* * *

"You're looking a bit better than expected, Rumple," Regina greeted him as she passed Emma the scroll.

Rumple snorted. "Sorry to disappoint, your majesty. I'm not quite ready for a pine box, yet."

"Why do I even bother?" Regina muttered, not sounding particularly distressed.

Emma accepted the scroll, then tensed as her father got out of the car and came around to greet her. She met his smile with a curt nod and cut him off with an, "Anything I need to know about involving the sheriff's station?"

David took a step back, and his smile froze, faded, and was replaced with a businesslike demeanor. "Scarlet's in custody; your mother's filling in at the station until you get back. Hook," he glanced at Gold, "will be repairing the damage he caused to the shop under your supervision. I… hope we can count on you not to turn him into a pig or a snake or anything else?"

"You're developing an imagination," Gold returned without a trace of sarcasm. He sighed. "I will attempt to refrain from attending to him as I'd like, but you might caution him against needless provocation. Self-control is a valuable commodity and my supply is not without limit."

"I'll talk to him," Emma said with a long-suffering sigh. Her gaze fell on something in the back seat of the Mercedes and she turned to Regina. "Is that a _cage_?"

Regina released a long breath. "It's a chicken coop. Apparently, my sister seems to have acquired a soft spot for her former nanny. And, I suppose caring for a chicken during her confinement might leave her too preoccupied to plot more mischief."

"I see that the new mayor's legendary optimism is rubbing off on you," Rumple snorted.

"Actually," Regina smiled, "that would be the former mayor. I've taken the position back," she smiled at Emma, "with Snow's blessing."

It was old news to Emma, though she didn't miss Gold's flicker of surprise. "Did you see Henry before you left?" she asked, hoping Regina would pick up on what she was hinting.

"I looked in on him," Regina said, "but he was sound asleep. And, since he was up late and he has school today, I decided not to wake him." Her gaze flicked from Emma to Gold and back to Emma again. "I'm sure he'll share his news with you when you get back," she said.

Emma nodded and pretended she didn't see her father trying to catch her eye.

"Well," Regina smiled tightly, "we'd best be on our way. And Emma, this snow is going to keep falling; if I were you, I wouldn't make too many pit stops on the drive home. I think we'll probably stay the night in New York, ourselves."

She sighed. "I can't wait for things to settle down and get back to normal again." She hesitated for a moment. Then she turned back to Gold. "The town hasn't been the same without you, Rumple," she said seriously. "I'm sure it will be…," one corner of her mouth twitched, "interesting having you back."

Gold's eyebrows shot up and something softened in his eyes. "I'm not certain I should be thanking you for saying so," Gold murmured with a ghost of a smile gracing his own face.

"Neither am I," she replied in a tone surprisingly free of acrimony. "But, I suppose time will tell." She looked back to Emma. "Drive safely."

"You, too."

"Emma…," her father tried one last time.

Emma turned away. "You heard Regina," she said. "We need to get back ahead of the storm."

"Can I call later?"

Emma sucked in her breath. Then she happened to glance at Rumple and something about the look on his face checked her. "Sure," she muttered. "Later."

Then she stalked back toward her car, Gold a step behind. Once they were out of earshot of the others, Gold turned to her. "Are you certain it's still anger that you feel toward them, savior? Or is it that you're afraid that forgiving them would mean condoning their past actions?"

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Emma demanded.

"As you like," Gold shrugged. "I ask only that you keep in mind that the future is uncertain and these roads _are_ treacherous. There is a possibility, however slight, that you're now seeing your father for the last time. Should that be the case, how will you feel, years from now, when you look back upon this day?"

Emma shot him a furious glare and, though he flinched, he added quietly, "Family is family. And had my father shown me even a hint of genuine remorse for abandoning me, there's no telling the effect it might have had. I'll return you the same courtesy you've extended me and refrain from badgering you further. But if you'll permit me to remind you of one other point?" He waited for Emma's slight nod before he continued. "My father was a monster. Yours, for all his flaws and foibles, isn't."

Emma closed her eyes for a moment and her lips pressed together tightly. Then she turned around. "Dad?"

The Mercedes was already pulling out of the lot. But she saw her father looking back over his shoulder and she slowly raised her hand and waved. As she did, she saw a wide smile break on David's face and he waved back enthusiastically.

Emma turned to Gold with a worried expression. "That was just advice, right? You… you don't _know_ anything?"

Gold shook his head. "Advice, only. But I do encourage you to take it."

"I'm still mad," she admitted.

"Understandable. But letting such emotions fester is… well, something that a significant part of me would welcome. Your choice, of course."

Emma inhaled through her teeth. "Damn you," she murmured without heat.

"Already done, dearie, and quite some time ago."

He was only mildly surprised when she clasped his forearm and gave him a rueful smile.

* * *

"Your mood seems to have improved considerably," Regina remarked. David had been grinning since they'd left the lot, almost a full ten minutes earlier.

David settled a bit more comfortably in his seat. "She waved," he said.

"Yes, I saw."

"When she called last night, I thought she was calming down a bit, but…" He sighed. "Well, you saw that too."

"It was hard not to," Regina admitted. "Did you notice anything else?"

David frowned. "Should I have?"

"I try not to dwell on the past too much," Regina said. "I've never been big on regretting what can't be changed. But I suppose I can say that some things that Emma's been hinting at to me over the course of the last few days have started to sink in." When David said nothing, she took another breath.

"After the first curse broke, turning over a new leaf was the last thing I wanted to do. If I hadn't recognized that I'd lose Henry if I didn't, I don't think I'd have even bothered trying. And," she admitted, "almost every step of the way, it felt like an exercise in futility. I'd fight to take one step forward and something… or someone… would contrive to push me several steps back."

"Your mother," David suggested.

"It wasn't only her." The snow was coming down harder and she turned on her windshield wipers. She waited until she had a clearer view of the road before she continued. "In point of fact, at times, it was all of you." She caught David's frown and continued. "No, I'm not trying to lay blame now. The person I was when I cast the curse, well, I can hardly fault you for being wary of my intentions. I can't even say your suspicions were mostly misplaced. But they were one more element in the stack against me, encouraging me to continue as I had been." She paused for breath and to gauge the reaction of her captive audience. She wasn't used to opening up and, as much as she felt that this was one occasion where it was warranted, if her companion was just listening to be polite, she wasn't about to continue. When David nodded, she went on. "Your wife likes to say that just believing in the possibility of a happy ending is a powerful thing. For a long time, I didn't."

"Because of Daniel?" David asked gently.

Regina shook her head. "That was part of it. But even though I didn't believe I could ever find happiness without him, there was still a part of me that held on for a very long time. King Leopold was a good man and a kind one. As miserable as I was to be marrying him, I wondered whether it couldn't turn out well. But, I suppose I didn't have the courage to tell him I was unhappy and—I believe he thought that if he gave me all the luxuries he could think up, then I would be content." She smiled sadly. "The truth is, Leopold didn't love me and wasn't interested in knowing who I was. He wanted a stepmother for his daughter and he assumed that because Snow liked me and… I'd liked her—at least, until I discovered that she'd shared my secret with my mother—then that was all that mattered. Being trapped in a loveless marriage with a stepdaughter you held responsible for the death of your True Love," she smiled sadly, "wasn't exactly my idea of a happy ending. I thought that if I couldn't have love, power might fill the hole in my heart." She sighed then. "It didn't. Oh, it numbed it. And I was convinced that if I could just use that power to… remove every irritant in my path, then I could be happy. That was why I cast the curse in the first place," she confessed. "I'd lost everything. I saw Snow as the primary cause. And I just… wanted to win."

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to that," David admitted.

Regina shook her head. "I'm not looking for a sympathetic ear," she retorted. "I'm trying to explain what's been on my mind for the last little while."

"Sorry."

Regina sighed again. "I cast the curse," she continued, "but it wasn't what I'd thought it would be. Yes, I'd won… but nobody even remembered that there'd been a battle except me. Not even Rumple," she added. "And I still had that… hole in my heart. Until Henry."

She took another breath. "When Snow and Emma fell through that portal to the Enchanted Forest, you were under a sleeping curse at the end of it, so maybe you don't know this part, but Rumple and I were going to destroy the well where we knew the portal would open. Rumple was sure that Cora would defeat your family and try to cross over to this realm, and neither one of us wanted to face _her_. Henry persuaded me to stop the spell we'd cast, but there was one very tense moment when I found myself wondering why I was weighing the faith of an eleven-year-old boy against a potential threat that neither Rumple nor I were convinced we'd be able to handle. Add in that at that time, the two people I most wanted to be rid of in my life were the same two who were trapped on the other side and, perhaps, you can appreciate my struggle to make the right decision."

"All right," David nodded, his tone carefully neutral. "I'm with you, so far."

"Of course, Good triumphed," Regina said with a trace of irony lacing her words. "Snow and Emma made it back. We repaired to Gold's shop. And for a moment, I thought that things might be turning around for me. I had my son's approval. While you and I certainly weren't friends at that point, we were at least behaving civilly. There had even been a moment when Emma and I…" she hesitated. Then with a rueful smile, she said, "…Well, I'm not sure 'bonded' would be the correct term for it, but there was an instant, at least, when we weren't at each other's throats and it felt…" her smile grew warmer, "…wonderful." A shadow seemed to fall across her face. "And then," she continued tartly, "Ruby invited _almost_ everyone to dinner and… just like that, I was the Evil Queen again."

David shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I guess we didn't think," he mumbled.

"Well, we scarcely moved in the same circles before the curse. I don't know why I expected anything different. But a couple of nights later, Emma invited me to that potluck, and I made up my mind to, for once, take a second chance when it was offered instead of throwing it back in everyone's face. I made lasagna. And even when I realized that the invitation had come from Emma alone and nobody else was being particularly welcoming, I tried to let it slide. I didn't even incinerate Leroy when he asked whether my secret ingredient was poison."

"Is it too late for an apology?" David winced.

Regina didn't answer for a moment. "Honestly, looking back now, I can't fault you. You were only awake for a few months during the curse, and during those months, I framed your true love for murdering the woman you thought was your wife. Before that, I'd made sure that Katherine knew about the two of you—"

"She didn't mention that part."

"Ah," Regina sighed. "My point is, although my purpose in casting the Dark Curse was to give myself a happy ending and have the rest of you suffer, for twenty-eight years, I didn't actively _do_ much apart from admire my handiwork. My actions in the Enchanted Forest were—for me—deep in the past. But when the curse broke and you and Snow got your memories back, it must have felt to you as though it had all happened yesterday."

David nodded. "Pretty much… yeah."

Regina nodded back. "I understand that better now. But that's hindsight. At the time, all I could think was that my son was the only person in my life who might yet love me and I was losing him to the woman who'd surrendered him at birth. When I was married to Snow's father, I quickly discovered that the ghost of Queen Eva haunted him still. And," she continued matter-of-factly, "it felt to me as if what was true for my husband was true for the kingdom, as well. They tolerated me. That was it. And after Leopold's death, it was very obvious that while I could control their hearts, Snow could command their love. I'd spent my married life in my predecessor's shadow. To spend the rest of it in my stepdaughter's was intolerable. So. I surrendered more fully to the Darkness I'd already let in. I'll spare us both the rehashing of _those_ details. Suffice to say that I believed I'd burned my bridges with the lot of you and I didn't want to lose—or even share my son's affections. They were the only ones I had." She shook her head. "Of course, in my fight to hold onto them, I nearly lost them."

David nodded. "A lot's happened since then."

"Yes, I know," Regina said calmly. "And don't think that I spend much time dwelling on the past. In general, I don't. But some of the things that Emma's mentioned to me over the last couple of days have had me thinking back on that time."

"Um… okay?"

Regina took another breath. "I know you only had eyes for your daughter, but did you happen, maybe just in passing, to notice anything different about Rumple?"

David frowned. "He's limping again, isn't he?"

"That, too. But what I meant was, if I had to hazard a guess about his current state of mind… I'd say he's about where I was the night of that potluck. He knows how the town feels about him. He might want to come home, but I don't imagine he's expecting much of a welcoming committee."

"Probably not," David admitted. "I'll confess I have some reservations about his returning at all."

"You aren't alone in that," Regina agreed. "And there is such a thing as being _too_ trusting. All the same, had things been a bit more pleasant for me at that get-together, maybe I wouldn't have been so quick to fall in with my mother's scheming. Or, maybe it wouldn't have made much of a difference; I went about a number of things the wrong way back then. I don't know. I do know that when I told him things hadn't been the same without him… Well, the last time I saw that look on his face was just after Neal let him out of Pandora's box on the trip back from Neverland." She stopped talking for a moment and changed lanes.

"One thing I've learned," she went on, "is to stop worrying about whether I'll be able to stay Light for the rest of my life. I try to focus on today. Sometimes," she added seriously, "I try to focus on the next five minutes. Today, I think I saw something in Rumple's face that told me he might have taken a step or two down the same path I'm on. Yes, it was a short meeting and we didn't have much of a conversation. I don't know what happened when he got back in the car. I don't know what he'll do when he gets back home. But I do know this: if he _is_ trying to step out of his Darkness and walk away from the person he's been for the last several lifetimes, it's not going to be an easy walk. And the last thing any of us should do is inadvertently shove him back toward the path he's trying to leave."

"It sounds like you want us to ask him to the next potluck."

Regina smiled. "I think it might be a good idea." Her voice softened as she remembered something Rumple had said to her the day Snow and Emma had returned, after the others had already gone to Granny's and left her behind without a thought. "I think it's actually overdue."

* * *

"I'd have thought you'd be happy that school was cancelled," Snow remarked, finding Henry staring listlessly out of the window back at her loft.

Henry glanced back at her, smiled, and accepted the mug of hot cocoa with cinnamon that she held out to him. "Thanks."

"Oh, come on," Snow said. "They'll be home soon."

"I can't believe I forgot to charge my phone before I went to bed last night," Henry exclaimed. "I never forget to charge it."

"Well… you just had a lot on your mind. Do you want to try calling Emma now?" she suggested.

"I did," Henry answered. "She turns it off while she's driving. I thought maybe she'd check her messages when she met up with Regina, but I guess not."

"Or maybe they were just in an area with bad reception. It happens. Especially in weather like this." She sighed. "I'm worried, too. I tried calling a little while ago, but I couldn't reach her either." She couldn't help but feel a sense of relief on knowing that Henry hadn't spoken with Emma either. If he had, Snow would have had to admit that her daughter still didn't want to talk to her. She'd hoped that Emma would have cooled off by now, especially since she'd spoken with David, but even that call had been strictly business.

Henry sighed. "Well, it is pretty bad out there."

Snow nodded. "Any change to the dagger?"

"Not since last night," Henry admitted. "I checked first thing when I got up. I could look again…"

"Don't," Snow replied gently. "It's probably not healthy to start obsessing over it. Hey," she said. "You want to play a game? I've got Monopoly, checkers… I probably have a deck of cards, come to think of it."

"No thanks," Henry said with an apologetic smile. "I guess I'm just worried."

"About Emma."

"And Grandpa."

"Now, your grandfather is a very careful driver. And so's Regina. Oh." Comprehension dawned. "You mean Rumpelstiltskin."

"Yeah," Henry said, his tone almost daring her to argue with him. "He's my grandfather, too."

"Of course he is," Snow agreed after a moment's pause. She wrapped an arm around Henry's shoulders. In a few short hours, her daughter would be home. Snow wondered how Emma would greet her. Or _if_ she would greet her. Her gaze flicked past Henry to the window. "You know," she said slowly, "when he gets back, he might have a hard time getting up his front walk. I don't think anyone will have shoveled it and the radio said we've already had more than six inches fall since last night. Normally," she admitted, "I'd guess he'd just use magic to take care of it, but from what Regina told us about that message he left for Belle, he might not be able to do that. If Dark magic is what's killing him, then every time he uses it…" She remembered something else. "In fact, if he can't risk using magic, he's probably going to have to go back to walking with a cane, like he used to."

Henry took her meaning at once. "Do you have a shovel I could borrow, Grandma?"

Snow smiled. "Actually, I've got two. We'll finish faster together."

She might not have many warm feelings for Rumpelstiltskin, but before her daughter had left for New York, Emma had promised that she wouldn't bring him back to Storybrooke unless she was convinced he deserved a second chance. _Maybe_ , Snow thought, _this is how I convince Emma to relent and give me one, too._

* * *

"I wish we hadn't shoved my duffle bag in the trunk," August said. "I have some CDs in there we could pop in."

"You're just lucky we stopped off for it," Emma grumbled. "We did _not_ need to go over an hour out of our way in this weather."

In her rearview mirror, she caught his apologetic smile. "I just didn't know how soon we'd be able to get back there, so I figured we should pick it up while we were in the area. Sorry. I thought it might… break things up a bit."

Despite herself, Emma nodded. She didn't think that Gold or Belle had uttered more than a word or two since leaving Tolland, over three hours earlier. She and August had tried to make conversation, but the tension in the car was palpable and cast its pall over all the car's occupants. "We're almost there," she said. "Another forty minutes or so, tops." She turned on the radio. "I wonder whether we can pick up WOLF 98, yet." A crackle of static greeted her. "Sorry." She was about to turn it off when she realized that her antenna _was_ getting a signal. It was faint, but getting stronger the closer they got. "Maybe more like twenty minutes," she said. She turned down the volume several notches and drove on. The car was silent apart from the low drone of the radio announcer's voice, punctuated by intermittent bursts of static that seemed to grow more intermittent with every mile marker, until—

"Stop the car," Gold said abruptly.

"Huh?"

"Just for a moment. I-I left something here eight weeks ago."

Dubiously, Emma pulled over to the side of the road and Gold got out. For a moment, she wondered whether it was a bad case of nerves making him shy away from continuing on, but then, she saw him reach up and pull something down from a tree and he turned and walked back toward the car.

When he got in, Emma noted the object in his hands and eyebrows shot up. "You left your tie?"

"I wanted to be certain I could find my way back, if it were ever possible for me to return," he said, smiling. "We should be over the town line in approximately one hundred feet."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Emma smiled back.

Her answer was a click, as Gold refastened his seat belt.

"Good point," she admitted. "Okay. Let's do this."

There was no overt change to the road, at least nothing discernible in the falling snow. But when the 'Welcome to Storybrooke' sign finally came into view, she couldn't help but break into a wide grin. A quick glance at the other occupants showed similar expressions on their faces. "We made it," she breathed, laying her hand briefly over Gold's before returning it to the steering wheel. "We're home."

Gold nodded and smiled guardedly. They _were_ home. But his life was still in danger. And, if his darker aspect gained ascendancy, then so was the rest of the town.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

"Do we need to stop anywhere on the way?" August asked as the first farmhouses came into view. "I mean, are you going to need groceries or anything?"

Rumple blinked. "I-I'm sure I can scrounge something up," he replied. He couldn't, for the life of him, remember what he had in his pantry and he was almost afraid to see the state of the contents of his fridge, but at the moment, none of that mattered. "I'd just like to get back to the house, if you don't mind."

"I can bring something from Granny's," Belle suggested. "Emma and I can drop it off on our way to the convent."

Rumple shook his head. "Thank you, no. I daresay I'll be enjoying Widow Lucas's cuisine again ere too long, but I can't say as I'm in the mood for restaurant food tonight."

Emma winced. Although Gold's tone was pleasant enough, there was nothing in it to indicate that he was speaking to anyone who occupied a particular place in his affections. Belle might almost have been a stranger to him. She reminded herself that she'd as good as promised not to mix in and that this really wasn't her business, unless at least one of the two asked for her help. _And if they did, would I even know what to do? It's not as though I ever did anything after a relationship ended besides get in my car and start driving—until I either calmed down or ended up in a new city._ She checked herself mentally. Instead of trying to fix Gold's love life, maybe she should start with something she knew she could handle without it backfiring. "I know there are soups and casseroles in my parents' freezer," she said. "After Neal was born, people started bringing them in and—unless my mother has started hosting banquets during the last two weeks—there's got to be about six months' worth of meals stockpiled. I can give you a few to tide you over until you're more settled in." She forced herself not to bring up using magic; it was certain to be a sore point. He'd just spent two months cut off from his magic. Now, he was surrounded by it—but using it—even for something as mundane as healing his limp—would almost certainly worsen his heart condition. And he had to know that for himself already.

Gold didn't speak for a moment—long enough for Emma to brace herself in case she'd said the wrong thing after all. Then a slight smile graced his face. "If you're certain your mother won't mind, that would be appreciated. Thank you, Emma."

Emma smiled back.

* * *

Her mother wasn't home and neither was Henry. While Emma was somewhat surprised—there'd been an announcement over the radio that school was probably going to be closed tomorrow _also_ , from which Emma could infer that it must have been closed _today_ —she supposed that they might be holed up at Regina's. If Henry didn't have to go to school, he didn't have to leave the house. At any rate, Emma was more than a bit relieved to avoid a confrontation. She knew her parents regretted their past actions. She knew that they'd been trying to act in her best interest. But they had still stolen Maleficent's child and darkened an innocent soul. Better make that _three_ souls; if either of her parents had been savior in her place, Gold would already undoubtedly have what he needed for the ink.

She wondered why she was so willing to give Gold a second chance and so unwilling to do the same for her parents. She supposed that in the end it came down to generally expecting her parents to be better. They sure as hell acted like it. Yeah, her mother couldn't keep secrets and her father's courage sometime lent itself to impulsive action, but in general, they had clear—if overly simplistic—notions of what Good was supposed to be and always acted as though they were 'it'. And after having done what they did…

And they'd done it for _her_. _That_ sickened her. They'd corrupted a _baby_ for her sake. She was part of this, whether she wanted to be or not.

 _"We wanted you to be Good,"_ her mother had told her on the phone. _"We were trying to give you your best chance."_ That had been the point when Emma had released a stream of invective, ended the call, and stormed to the Met cafeteria to confront Gold.

She understood why her parents had done what they did. That didn't mean she was okay with it. And right now, she was just as happy that she didn't have to see her mother while she was raiding the freezer.

On the other hand, had her mother been here and dared to voice even a single word of protest over her making friendly overtures to _Rumpelstiltskin_ , well, Emma had to admit that an opportunity to vent a bit more fury and frustration… would actually feel kind of _good._

Then she caught herself, remembered that this sort of thinking was exactly the type of pitfall that August had been warning her about, thanked her lucky stars that she _was_ alone in the loft, grabbed three sealed foil pans and a mason jar of soup out of the freezer and stuffed them into a paper shopping bag with rope handles, pausing only long enough read the labels and assure herself that she had, in fact, grabbed three casseroles and not a week's supply of homemade baby food or a batch of marinara.

* * *

Belle was waiting outside the door of the apartment when Emma opened it. She looked miserable. "I was going to walk from here," she admitted, "but I realized I'd need to get my bag out of the back and I'm not sure I can carry it that far."

Emma put a hand on her shoulder. "I don't think anyone's going to clear the sidewalks until the snow stops. I'll drive you. You could've waited in the car, though."

Belle shook her head. "No, I couldn't."

"Did Gold say something to you?"

"If he had, I wouldn't be waiting here," Belle retorted. Almost as quickly as her irritation flashed, it vanished and she leaned against the wall. "I tried to apologize and he… he nodded, but he didn't say anything."

"Well," Emma said dubiously, "at least he nodded. Maybe that's a good sign."

Belle closed her eyes briefly. "It's not," she said decisively. "I… August was right. I shouldn't have pushed. But I still... I wanted an answer. I begged him for one. I-I just needed him to say that he wanted more time or that we could talk in a day or two or," her voice broke, "something to let me think that I didn't completely destroy what we ha-had." She wiped at the tears that had started rolling down her cheeks.

Emma laid a hand on her shoulder. "Belle."

"He j-just said," Belle struggled to get out between sobs, "th-that I didn't have an-an-anything to apologize for, that I cou-couldn't help how I felt and th-that he wouldn't h-hold me to an agreement m-made under f-f-f-fraudulent preten—" She buried her head in Emma's shoulder with a keening wail.

"Hey," Emma said, wrapping her free arm around Belle and stooping slightly to set the shopping bag of casseroles on the floor. That done, she awkwardly stroked Belle's hair with her other hand. "Hey."

"Why can't he be angry?" Belle sobbed. "Why doesn't he hate me? _I_ hate me!"

"Hey, take it easy," Emma murmured. "It's—" She caught herself. The last thing Belle needed to hear now was that things were _okay_. "You're right," she said finally. "It was too soon. He does need more time. You both do." She kept stroking Belle's hair. "It's going to be okay."

Belle's sobs died to whimpers. "You think so?"

Emma sighed. "I don't know if you two are going to be able to patch things up, but I do know that, one way or another, things are going to be okay. I just… don't know how or when or..." A shuddering sob convulsed Belle and Emma stopped talking, gently pressed Belle's head deeper into her shoulder, and patted her on the back.

For several long moments, the only sound to be heard in the hallway was Belle's ragged breathing as she fought to get her emotions back under control. Finally she lifted her head. "Could… could I just use your bathroom to wash my face?" she asked tremulously.

"Sure," Emma said gently, reaching into her pocket for the key.

"I won't be long."

"Don't worry about it."

"Emma? Uh…" Belle gave her a watery smile. "Thanks. For…"

"Don't worry about that either," Emma reassured her. "What are friends for? Go on. I'll wait here."

When Belle emerged a couple of minutes later, her eyes were a bit too bright and the whites were still slightly bloodshot, but she seemed more composed and her smile didn't look as though it was about to give way to a fresh flood of tears.

"You ready?" Emma asked, picking up the bag once more.

Belle sighed. "Not really, but I'll manage. Would you drop me off first, please?"

"No problem."

* * *

Emma couldn't miss Gold's apprehension when they got back to the car. And she didn't think it had only to do with the concerns he'd expressed earlier about the town's safety if his darker desires got the better of him. He hadn't been this tense when she'd gone up to the loft. Now, his shoulders were hunched forward and he flinched when she sat down. She winced as she recognized the most likely reason.

 _He's still expecting me to automatically take Belle's part, when I just want to stay out of this. I mean, I want to do… something to help, but I don't know what and it's not my business. And, seriously, this isn't high school. We're all adults, here._ A new thought struck her and she tried not to smile.

_So, who says that's supposed to make things easier?_

As she turned the key in the ignition, she murmured, "C'mon, you guys. You're both my friends. I'm not picking sides, for crying out loud."

She cast a sidelong glance at Gold and watched a welter of emotions pass over his face in an instant: relief, shock, disbelief, amazement, and even wonder. Then a faint smile played on his lips and he relaxed visibly.

"Library's on the way," she added. "I can let you off there, Belle. August?"

August hesitated. "Belle, when did you move out of the house?"

"The day after…" Belle replied with a faint underlying strain in her voice. "Why?"

"And nobody's been inside since?"

"I-I went back the night before we left Storybrooke to pack up the valises. And before that, Regina wanted to borrow some spell books from the basement to see if she could figure out how to free the fairies. Other than that, well, we know someone _tried_ to break in, but the protection spells were set up to block anyone but me from entering."

"Was the thermostat on?"

Belle thought for a moment. "I-I don't know. I didn't touch it, so if it wasn't on eight weeks ago, then no."

"It was pretty warm eight weeks ago," Emma remembered. With Ingrid gone, it had been as though Mother Nature had been trying to make up for the early winter temperatures with a fall that felt more like summer.

"Right." August jerked his head toward Emma's seat. "I'd better come with. I don't know how cold it's been here in the last couple of weeks, but if it's been anything like it is now, Gold, your pipes could be frozen. Luckily, since my dad's the local handyman," he smiled, "I've picked up a thing or two about fixing stuff like that. Even though I was just a kid at the time," he added.

Rumple blinked. "Thank you, Booth," he murmured.

"Hey. Home isn't supposed to be a place you come back to and think, 'Gee, I wish I were still in a two-star hotel in a strange city'."

"No, it's not," Emma said quietly. "Home's a place where when you leave it, you just miss it."

Gold turned his head sharply toward her. "Who told you that?" he demanded.

"I think you know."

He nodded slowly. "Bae…"

"Yeah," she grinned. "I'm guessing it's something he learned from you."

Gold smiled faintly. "Not quite. It's something _I_ learned from him…

* * *

_He seldom leaves the village, now. In fact, it's rare that he emerges from his hut. The scorn of his neighbors is, perhaps, less vocal than it was when first he'd limped home from the front, but their contempt is always present, just below the surface. And as soon as he steps out of the safety of his hovel, it meets him with the blistering heat of a noonday sun in summer._

_But there is the fair in Longbourne each year. And in those two weeks, a skilled artisan might sell enough goods to survive a lean winter. And if the artisan is fortunate, then perhaps a wealthy merchant—or even a noble—might commission a large enough order that he might do far better than survive it. Rumple has missed the fair these last three years. With Milah gone and Bae too young to stay alone, Rumple has had no choice but to remain at home, eking out a living by spinning wool from his neighbors, who can't pay much, but do pay something. Sometimes his fee has had to be in food and firewood rather than coin, but such barters have kept him and his boy fed and warm, and at least his neighbors have some sympathy for a child whose mother was stolen away by pirates and likely dead or worse by now. They still try to get by with paying less than Rumple's work is worth on occasion, but he learned the art of haggling at a young age—first from watching his father in action, and then by trying it for himself, whenever the spinsters sent him to the market for food and supplies. Invariably, he returned home with more than they'd anticipated—and come by honestly, too. At least, most of the time. So, despite everything, he has managed to look after his boy, perform a fair service for his neighbors, and even do some spinning and weaving of his own, against a time when he can take it elsewhere to sell._

_Bae is eight now, strong, sturdy, and eager to see more of the world. Rumple has two packs of good woolen cloth to sell, plus skeins of soft yarn, enough copper to pay for two spots on a bench in an ox-drawn cart and enough silver that they might sleep in an inn when they reach Longbourne, instead of camping on the fairgrounds, where they would be easy prey for cutpurses and pickpockets. There is supposed to be safety in numbers, but those who sleep on the edges of the camp are less-protected than those near the middle and as soon as someone recognizes him as 'the one who ran,' there will be no one inclined to extend any more protection than strictly necessary. Besides, if the weather should be poor, Bae might take sick. An inn it shall be._

_Longbourne is larger than their village. The fairgrounds alone may cover an area wider than that occupied by their houses and fields combined. Bae takes it all in, his eyes shining as he peppers Rumple with questions._

_"How do they make that shade of green, Papa? Papa! Do you see? That lady has golden thread woven into her gown. How is it done? Could you weave it so, Papa? Why do the rich men's shoes have pointy toes? What sort of fruit is_ that _, Papa?"_

_Rumple answers his questions patiently, but his heart aches and he wonders whether he shouldn't have left Bae at home and asked a neighbor to look in on him. His boy will be spoiled for village life after this, yearning for the finer things, things that Rumple will never be able to give him, no matter how much he wants to._

_On the last day of the fair, Rumple has a full pouch of silver and his packs are filled with hanks and skeins of not only sheep's wool, but raw goat cashmere as well. It's a gamble; the fiber is costly, but soft and warm and Rumple is certain that he'll be able to sell the yarn he'll spin from it at a high profit next year. And if not, the regular wool will stand him in good stead. He's going over his accounting, totting up figures and setting aside what will need to be surrendered in tithes and taxes, when Bae bounces into the room with a half-eaten gingered-almond fritter, his hands and face sticky from the honey that covers the pastry. "Where will we meet the wagon for the ride back, Papa?" he asks. "Will the innkeeper rouse us? Will we have the same seats we did on the ride down? What time will we be home tomorrow?"_

_So many questions. Rumple smiles fondly at his boy. "Are you anxious to leave, then, Bae?" he asks, and is surprised when Bae nods vigorously. "I thought you liked it here."_

_"I do!" Bae exclaims. Then he pauses. "At least," he says slowly, "I did. But I don't want to live here. It's noisy and there are too many people and nobody knows anyone else and everyone's in a hurry and… Well, next year, we can come back, maybe and it'll be a change. But now, I just want to go home."_

_Rumple's smile widens. "Even though it's nowhere near as grand as Longbourne?"_

_"Papa," Bae laughs, "home isn't home because it's grand. It's because it's…" He pauses, trying to find the right words. "I guess," he says finally, "I guess home is where… it doesn't matter if it's small or grand or quiet or noisy. It's where when you leave it, you just… miss it."_

* * *

"I didn't understand him at the time," Emma said, when Gold was finished. "I spent my childhood in the system, bouncing between foster homes and group homes, with a few stints on the street or sleeping on Greyhound buses thrown in. Not all the places were bad—I guess I can see that now. But not one of them was home, not really. And even when I got out on my own, I had a roof over my head, but when I thought it was time to go… that was it. I can't think of any place I actually missed. Until Storybrooke."

Gold nodded slowly. "We've had… similar experiences. I've lived in a number of places and I can't think of one I'd hurry to revisit without a good reason."

"Well, I'd say the magic qualifies as a good reason," August began. "I mean, considering."

Gold shook his head. "No. The magic may or may not buy me more time, but even if it dissipated from Storybrooke tomorrow…" He closed his eyes, pressed his lips together, and seemed to shrink back into the car seat. "This _is_ home," he whispered with a catch in his voice. "And I _have_ missed it."

"We'll be at your house in a couple of minutes," Emma said gently. "We'll just drop Belle off on the way."

"Unless…" Belle started to say.

"I think that's probably best," Gold replied. "And I shan't keep the rest of you long. I daresay your families are eager to see you again and I'll need to see about…" He winced as he looked out the window at the front doors of shuttered shops along Main Street. A plow had evidently taken care of the sidewalk, but it had left high snow banks on either side as it passed. "Digging out the…" As his shop came into view, his words died on his lips. There was a clear path from the door to the street, cutting through the snow wall. He looked at Emma sharply. "Did you do that?"

It was on the tip of Emma's tongue to point out that she'd been away just as long as he had, when she realized he was asking whether she'd used magic. "No," she said, mystified. She continued slowly down the street for another hundred yards and pulled up in front of the clock tower. The snow was banked high here, too, but the plow had continued across the street instead of turning the corner, so there was a clear access to the sidewalk. She twisted her head, trying to look over her shoulder at Belle. "Are you going to be okay getting in?" she asked.

"Uh… yes," Belle said, a bit too brightly. "The doors open inward. I can get through."

Emma unfastened her seatbelt and got out of the car, moving the seat forward to allow Belle to exit. "What time should we head to the convent?" she asked.

"I'll… uh… call you after supper."

"Belle?" Emma asked, suddenly serious, "do _you_ have anything in your fridge? I mean, I've got three casseroles and a jar of soup here. You can—"

Belle shook her head. "No, I'll be fine. There's stuff in the freezer. And there's always Granny's."

"In this weather?"

"There's stuff in the freezer," Belle repeated quickly.

Emma dropped the subject. "Okay. And Belle? It's going to work out. Somehow."

Belle nodded hastily. As soon as Emma opened the back, the librarian grabbed her valise and stumbled away as fast her high-heeled shoes would take her. Emma watched her go sadly. Then she got back in the car. At the weary resignation on Gold's face, the good word she'd been meaning to put in died on her lips. _It's not your business_ , she told herself again firmly. _And besides, it's too soon._

"C'mon," she murmured. "Let's get you home safe."

* * *

As Emma pulled up in front of the Queen Anne revival-style mansion that was Gold's house, he sat bolt upright, a shocked look on his face.

"I didn't have anything to do with _this_ , either," Emma said, sounding stunned. More than half the walk had been shoveled and there was a gap in the snow bank in front of the house, so that they'd be able to get through directly instead of parking at the corner. Seated on the front step were two familiar figures, a large Thermos flask between them. Emma parked in front of the gap. When she opened her door, she noticed that someone had poured a significant amount of ice melt on the sidewalk before the house. What snow remained on the walk itself also bore a myriad of round perforations, attesting to the presence of further ice melt.

On the step, her mother looked up, called her name, and started coming toward them, Henry running ahead. Emma waved and went around the front of the car, to where Gold's door was already open. "You okay?" she asked.

For a moment, he didn't respond. Then he blinked and a slow, uncertain smile spread across his lips. "How… unexpected," he murmured.

"Can you manage?" Emma asked. "Or should I move the other seat so August can slide over and get out that way?"

Gold blinked again. Then he unfastened his seatbelt, brushed away the hand Emma extended toward him, and set the tip of his cane firmly to the snowy street. By then the others had reached them.

"Emma!" Snow exclaimed, her voice nearly drowned out by Henry's exuberant, "Mom! Grandpa!"

"It is _so_ nice to be missed," August drawled from the back seat.

"Oh!" Snow laughed, trying to peer behind Gold. "I'm sorry, we couldn't see if there was anyone else back there."

"Another moment, if you please, Booth," Gold spoke without turning around. "I shall be out of the way directly."

Almost as soon as he emerged from the car, he felt the air whoosh out of his lungs as Henry flung his arms about him. "Grandpa! You're back!"

Gold's face seemed to twist and he screwed his eyes tightly shut, even as he returned the hug. "So I am, my boy," he said hoarsely. "So I am."

Emma touched her son's shoulder briefly, a fond smile on her face. Then she met her mother's eyes. "Thanks," she said, her tone carefully neutral. "We weren't expecting this."

"Well," Snow said, a bit too gregariously, "before Happy and Dopey could dig out the town, they had to dig out the snow plows; the yard gates were half-buried. We figured it might take a while before they tackled the residential streets."

Without letting go of his grandson, Gold looked up, his eyes as sharp as ever, but when he spoke next, there was an uncharacteristic note of warmth in his voice. "And the clear path to my shop?"

Snow shifted her feet uncomfortably, the way she generally did in his presence. "We didn't know whether you'd come here first or…"

Henry lifted his head. "Besides, I didn't know if I still had a job after everything that's happened, but in case I did, I figured if you mostly had me sweeping and polishing inside, you'd probably want me shoveling outside, too."

"You… you still want the job?" Gold replied with some surprise.

"Sure."

"Even though I have no idea who the Author is."

Henry eased himself out of his grandfather's embrace and met his eyes with a mix of apprehension and embarrassment. "It was never just about that," he said apologetically. "I wasn't lying about why I wanted the job in the first place. I just… wasn't telling you the whole truth. I-I'm sorry."

Gold shook his head. "That is a trait that tends to crop up in our family line rather frequently," he said dryly. "I think, however, that it may've skipped your father."

Henry blinked. And then, a cautious smile came to his lips, one mirrored almost immediately by his grandfather.

"Well," Gold continued, still smiling as his eyes sought out and found Snow, "I think you've both done a fine job and I thank you." He hesitated. "I-I'd invite you in if I knew for certain I had some manner of refreshment to offer, but apart from some stale pastries we brought with us…"

"I stopped off at home to raid the freezer," Emma admitted. "But it'll take some time for the casseroles to thaw."

Snow shook her head. "No, that's fine." She gestured toward his front step where the Thermos remained. "We were just having a hot cocoa break when you arrived. I think we'll finish up and be on our way. You probably need time to unpack and get settled."

"Another time, perhaps," Gold said with some small relief.

A puzzled expression came to Snow's face. Then she gave a small nod with an almost-equally small smile. "Perhaps," she replied. She turned to her daughter.

"Emma?"

Emma took a breath. "I'll be along in a bit," she said. "We need to unload the car and there are a couple of things August needs to check before I drive him back to Marco's."

"Oh. Okay," Snow said. "But then?"

"Yeah," Emma nodded. "I'll be home."

"You aren't still… angry? Emma I'm sorry. I know it doesn't change anything—"

"Yeah, you're right," Emma cut her off. "It doesn't. Somewhere out there is an innocent person carrying a whole load of Darkness they were never meant to and it's all thanks to you and Dad. I don't know how those scales can ever be balanced. I don't know if there's any way to come back from what you did." She caught Gold's eye then and read a warning there. Unconsciously, she gave a slight nod. "But," she said quietly, "I don't think you're the only one dealing with a past that's hard to forgive and hoping for a second chance. I'm not getting into whether it's deserved right now. I'll talk about that some other time if someone really wants my thoughts. For the moment… let's just say that yes, I'm still angry, but you're still my mother. I'll be home in a bit."

She had a valise in one hand, a garment bag in the other, and was halfway up Gold's walk, the two men trailing behind her, when Snow called after her, "Where's Belle?"

Emma closed her eyes and pretended she hadn't heard. She felt a grip on her forearm. "Walk," Gold murmured. "Both of you. One foot in front of the other, savior. No need to answer more questions at this time. Walk."

"Mom!" Emma heard feet running behind her. "Grandpa! Wait!"

Gold stopped dead in his tracks with a horrified look on his face. "Gold," Emma said, "what—?" And then, she turned to see Henry running toward them, one hand reaching inside his coat and she realized what had to be happening.

An instant later, Henry did, as well and the expression on his face mirrored his grandfather's, as he withdrew his hand as though it had touched something white-hot. "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed as he reached them. "I didn't think… I wanted to…" he reached into his coat again and slowly pulled out the dagger. "I wanted to give it back," Henry said. "I didn't mean to use it. I didn't realize…" He thrust it at his grandfather, hilt-first. "Take it, please. I-I mean, if you want it. It's n-not an order—"

Gold was already reaching for it with a trembling hand. "Thank you, Henry," he murmured.

"I'm sorry," Henry repeated, as the weapon changed hands.

"I know," Gold reassured him. "I know you didn't mean to wield it." He let out a long breath and slid the blade into his own coat. "One thing I haven't missed about this place," he murmured, trying to sound flippant.

It didn't work.

August placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's see about those pipes," he said.

"Give me a sec," Emma said, releasing Gold and turning back to Henry.

"It's okay," she told her son.

"I know," Henry said with a shaky smile. "He didn't turn me into a snail and he didn't yell at me, so he's not mad and he's not scared. Did you tell him what I told Regina last night? About the dagger?"

Emma shook her head. "I wanted to check with you first and then I couldn't reach you this morning."

Henry nodded his understanding. "Tell him now," he said. "He needs to look at it."

Emma regarded her son for a moment, taking in the excited glint in his eyes and the smile struggling to escape his poker face. "Yeah, okay," she said. You sure you're good to finish up here? I mean, you've been at it for a while and the snow's still coming down."

"Not as hard as it was," Henry said. "Besides, I hate leaving something in the middle."

"Okay. I'll see you in a bit. If not here, then at home."

* * *

"I'll need to know where all your faucets are," August was saying, as Emma walked in. "Sometimes one pipe can freeze while the rest are fine. I'll need to check each of 'em."

Gold sighed. "I'll show you where they are momentarily." He glanced at the staircase and winced. "I'm not looking forward to _that_ ," he admitted. "I've gotten used to elevators."

"Uh… Look," Emma said, as both men turned toward her. "I get why you don't want to use magic right now, but… could I try?"

"Not the best idea, dearie," Gold said with a gentle smile. "Healing cuts and scrapes are one thing, but with an injury this old," he shook his head. "At best, you'll be able to temporarily mask my condition and I can't be forever calling you to renew the enchantment. No," he sighed, "I'll simply have to re-accustom myself to this reality."

He turned to August. "As far as this level is concerned, we passed the bathroom on our way in. The kitchen is down the hall to your left and once there, if you look to your right, you'll find the laundry room. When you're done with those, I'll show you where the upstairs bathroom is and then the basement faucets. Will you need to check the exterior faucets as well?"

"Yeah, I'd better," August nodded. "If I can get to them. Let's deal with the indoors first, though."

"Before you do," Emma said, "Gold, maybe you ought to check the dagger. Henry noticed something."

Gold's eyebrows shot up, but he drew the blade out of his jacket and held it up with no small apprehension. A moment later, he relaxed. "Well," he said, "at least it's no worse. Ten letters are still intact. As he told you earlier," he added with a slight frown. "So what is it that he noticed?"

Emma took a deep breath. "Last night," she said, "after you… went down to the lobby, Henry says that it was more like eight and a half letters intact. A couple of hours later, when Regina phoned to tell me that she and my father were on their way down, it was nine and a half."

"What? Emma, are you quite certain?"

"That's the thing," Emma said miserably. "I can't be. I mean, I'm sure of what Regina told me, but I didn't see it for myself. It's second-hand information. Or third-hand even. But if it's right… it seems like whatever's going on with your heart might be fixing itself. And it started before we even got back here."


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

Over the telephone, Snow heard her husband sigh. "I thought," he said heavily, "after she waved when we were pulling out, that things were going back to normal."

"Well," Snow said, struggling to put a bright face on things, "at least she's talking to us again. Maybe she'll…"

"Oh, I'm sure she will," David agreed. "Eventually. But until then," he sighed. "I guess we knew this was going to come out one day. Or we should have."

"We used magic to banish Emma's darkness," Snow said. "All magic comes with a price."

"As Rumpelstiltskin is so fond of reminding people," David replied. Then, in a different tone, "Say, did you notice anything different when you saw him?"

"I…" Snow thought back. "I didn't really talk to him for long, but he seemed… quieter somehow. Not that he's ever been loud, I mean. But there was something… I don't know." She hesitated. "I think it was… For as long as we've known him, here or back in the Enchanted Forest, Rumpelstiltskin has always seemed to be in control of everything, and even if he wasn't, he acted as if he was. Like he didn't need us half so much as we needed him and he wanted us to be sure we knew it. Today, it was… well, different. Like when he invited me and Henry inside, he wasn't just trying to be polite. I think he was trying to be… _nice_."

"I thought he was making excuses for _not_ inviting you in."

"Yes, but I got the feeling that he was actually sorry he didn't feel up to it."

David sighed. "Regina might have been right about him after all," he said, going on to describe their conversation in the car that afternoon after leaving the Mr. Cluck's in Tolland.

As Snow listened to her husband, a startling suspicion took root in her mind and started to grow. When he was done talking, she hesitated before asking the question that had occurred to her while he'd been talking. "David, you said before that when you approached Emma, she more or less ignored you, but then she waved before it was too late?"

"Yeah."

"Did you happen notice whether she'd had a word with Rumpelstiltskin first?"

"To tell you the truth," David said with a frown in his voice, "I didn't. I know he stuck with her when Belle and August went inside the restaurant, but I don't know if they spoke to each other. Why?"

"Oh, maybe I'm reading too much into things," Snow admitted. "But it seemed to me like Emma was about to… go off on me again in person, the way she did over the telephone when I told her about Maleficent. And then, she looked at Rumpelstiltskin and just… started talking about how," she thought back, trying to recall the exact words. "…About how I wasn't the only person who might need a second chance, whether or not it was deserved."

"And earlier, she was calling us hypocrites," David said.

Snow winced. "I don't know if she used those exact words, but yes, I guess that was what she meant when she brushed off Regina trying to calm her down on the phone the other day." She winced at the memory of her stepmother's words. "Emma told her that she—Regina, I mean—had never pretended to be a… I think 'paragon of virtue' was the phrase she used." A puzzled frown creased her forehead. "What are you getting at?"

"Well," David said slowly, "when Emma and the others went to New York, we knew that their returning with Rumpelstiltskin was never a given. It hinged on whether they thought he merited a second chance. I mean, it's no great comfort or defense on our part to say that at least our Dark deeds," he heard his wife suck in her breath, "our Dark deeds," he repeated firmly, though a measure of pain was evident in his voice, "don't match his. However, I think a case could be made that if Emma's willing to give him a second chance and not us, then she _might_ be demonstrating some hypocrisy of her own."

"And you think Rumpelstiltskin might have been the one… making that case?"

"I think it's interesting that he's seemed to be around on both occasions that our daughter has shown signs of calming down. It could be coincidence. We could be reading it wrong. I mean, for all we know, he could be the one trying to drive a wedge between her and us."

"No," Snow said wearily, "we did that— _I_ did that when I decided I was done keeping secrets. Rumpelstiltskin has done a lot of things, yes. But what's happening between us and Emma is something we mucked up all by ourselves. Still, if he's trying to help us patch things up… why would he do that? What would be in it for him?"

"I don't know," David admitted. "Maybe it's less about his having an angle and more about his having a son from whom _he_ was estranged for a good long time. We know family's important to him. Maybe it was important enough for him to… try to get Emma to reconcile with us."

Snow sighed. "You know that if you're right, that would mean we owe him a favor."

"You know that if he's able to get Emma to forgive us, I'm actually kind of okay with that."

He was right. Of course he was right. "When will you be back in Storybrooke?" she asked.

"Some time tomorrow, I guess. Assuming the roads are clear."

Snow sighed. "I guess I'll have to wait until then," she said. "And think about what you've told me."

"Makes two of us," David smiled. "On both counts."

* * *

"Call me when you leave to pick Belle up," August said as they headed down Gold's walk. The snow still swirled around them, but the winds seemed a bit less forceful and they could see the flashing lights of a snowplow several blocks away, which was moving down the street toward them. "You might need backup."

"Huh?" Emma blinked. "Wait. Tell me in the car," she waved vaguely toward the plow. "Looks like he's going to take care of the banked snow and I'm parked in the way."

August complied, keeping silent until she was out of her spot and turning off of Gold's street. "You don't talk to Blue much, do you?" he said finally.

Emma frowned. "Not really. I guess I get a little… irritated by people who act like my name and my job description are the same thing." She caught August's confusion out the corner of her eye and let out a long-suffering breath. "I don't think she's ever called me anything but 'savior', since the first curse broke."

"Oh," August said with an understanding smile. "Yeah, that sounds like her. Okay. Let me start out saying that I owe Blue way more than I owe Rumpelstiltskin. I mean, she gave me life three times, bailed me out of a couple of jams, found me a conscience when it was clear that her first spell didn't give me one automatically… I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her and I don't want you to think I'm forgetting that for a second."

"Why do I think that the next sentence out of your mouth is going to start with the word, 'but'?" Emma asked, slowing down at a stop sign.

August didn't smile. " _But_ ," he continued, "let's not forget that she told a kid who had _literally_ been born yesterday that he had to be a good boy, gave him a cricket to keep him on the straight and narrow, and figured that was good enough. Now, I'm not _exactly_ blaming her for my bad choices. She never encouraged me to cut school or get on that boat to Pleasure Island. But if she knew I was _that_ easily led astray… I don't know, maybe I'm being a little too harsh. Or maybe I _am_ blaming her after all."

"August?"

August sighed. "When you park the car, I'm going to get that book out of my bag and lend it to you. Read it before you go to the convent; it won't take long. And there's a bit in that version that got edited out of Henry's edition. But if you have time after you read Rumpelstiltskin's story, you might want to borrow the other text and read about Tinker Bell."

"Wait… Tinker Bell? Does Blue have a history with Pan, too?"

August shook his head. "No, but she does have one with Tink. And it'd be a good idea if you knew about it. It's part of Regina's story, too."

Emma glowered. "You know, you could just tell me what it is you want me to know."

"Maybe. But I think you'll understand better what you're dealing with if I show you a few examples. And you'll find them in those stories I mentioned. And then? Well, once we're both on the same page, no pun intended, I think it'll be best if I'm the one who confronts her. You'll never get anywhere with her if you lose your temper."

"Who says I'm going to lose my temper?"

"Someone who's seen your tolerance levels for self-righteousness—or lack thereof—up close and very recently. Now, I'll be happy to be proved wrong. But I think you'll need me with you. Just in case."

Emma massaged her forehead when she paused at the next stop sign. "Fine."

* * *

Belle wasn't in the mood for Lean Cuisine. Actually, she wasn't much in the mood for anything, but she knew she needed to eat if she wanted to keep her mind sharp for the task ahead. Fairy wasn't an easy language to master, particularly not the sort used in magical writings. Those tended to be recorded in rhymed verse, a technique that pre-dated the language's written alphabet. Rhyme and meter were fine mnemonics, but they tended to make the phrasing take awkward turns. And often the words used were archaic. It reminded Belle of the time she'd taken a copy of Chaucer's _Canterbury_ _Tales_ off the shelf in the Storybrooke library, hoping for something to read that seemed like it somewhat might remind her of home. The prologue's subtitle, "Here bygynneth the Book of the Tales of Caunterbury," hadn't been difficult to understand. But those first lines!

 _Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote_  
_The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,_  
_And bathed every veyne in swich licour_  
_Of which vertu engendred is the flour…_

Fortunately, there had been a translation on the facing page, because to Belle's consternation, _Middle_ English was just close enough to the modern vernacular for her to _almost_ understand what she was reading, and then press her knuckles to her forehead in frustration. Fairy writings on magic elicited a near-identical response from her. But Rumple was counting on her for this and it was clearly important enough to him that he'd softened his reserve enough to ask for her help. She couldn't refuse him, not after everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. If she did, she feared he'd never ask anything of her again.

She wasn't used to being afraid around Rumple. Not anymore. She hadn't been since her early days in his castle. Even then, it hadn't been him precisely that had alarmed her, but rather, his temper—although she'd seldom experienced it first-hand.The few times she had witnessed it had been enough for her to know to steer clear of him until he'd calmed down. She'd had far more exposure to his taunts and quips. She'd disliked those, but they hadn't frightened her.

Not like the side of him he'd been showing her since last night.

Once, he'd sent her away because he'd been frightened at the realization that he'd fallen in love with her. There had been other times when he'd tried to leave her because—as he'd said—he hadn't imagined that she could care for him. But on each of those occasions, even the time he'd thrown her out of his castle, he'd still wanted her. He'd still wanted _them_.

_I don't want this anymore, dearie._

The phrase kept replaying in her head in a continuous loop. What exactly had he meant by that? Was it 'only' that he didn't want to be with her, or…?

_He tried to do the right thing so many times and I overlooked or ignored most of them. Did he mean that he's not going to bother trying anymore?_

She remembered the conversation she'd had with Emma after that dinner with Robin and Zelena.

_If I'd found out that Rumple'd lied about Zelena, would I have realized—like Emma did—that he had every reason to think that we'd all rush to get Robin back home and forget all about him, or would I have just seen that he was hiding things again and accused him of reverting?_

She was very much afraid that she knew the answer to that one.

 _Well, why shouldn't I have? He_ does _lie, and he_ doesn't _change; he just tricks people into thinking he has!_

All true. But still, there was more to it. Emma had recognized his evasions, but she'd looked deeper and found, not an excuse, but an explanation—one that had made altogether too much sense. And Belle had to ask herself whether _she_ would have found that same justification without having it pointed out to her. Would she even have bothered looking?

She was very much afraid she knew the answer to that one, too.

If Rumple gave in to his Darkness after this…

_Then he'll have made his own choice. You can't blame yourself for his bad decisions._

No. But she could blame herself for taking away his reasons to make _good_ ones.

What was the point of trying to do the right thing if nobody ever noticed, much less gave you credit for it? Might as well just do what everyone expected and…

_And…_

"Oh, no," Belle whispered aloud. "Please, tell me I didn't… I only wanted..."

She'd only wanted to be a hero. Ever since she'd been a little girl reading of knights and quests, she'd wanted that. She'd been prepared to marry Gaston if it would save her people. She'd gone with Rumple when it had been obvious that Gaston's aid had failed. Her heroic sacrifice, she supposed. And then, she'd fallen in love with Rumple and realized that there was a good man trapped inside the monster and thought that it was her task to free him.

To say that he'd reacted badly was an understatement. She'd assumed that he'd been afraid to give into love. But what if that was overly simplistic?

_I don't want this anymore, dearie._

_I don't want_ you _anymore, dearie._

"What if," Belle was still whispering, "what if he'd been falling in love with me, because he thought I loved him for who he was, and when I tried to break his curse…"

_"When first we met… you knew I was a monster. The person I am simply… isn't good enough."_

Had there ever been a point, since her love for Rumple had first taken root, when she hadn't been trying to change him? When she'd truly accepted him for who he was? She knew there had been. So, what had changed?

Belle closed her eyes and thought back to what had happened when the first Dark Curse had been broken and she'd remembered who she was on the way to the well. Rumple had seemed so different, then. Gentler, quieter, the man she'd known she'd seen behind the monster's mask in the Dark One's castle. And then, he'd brought magic to Storybrooke and summoned the wraith to destroy Regina and she'd realized that he hadn't changed at all.

He'd tried to, though. He'd loved her enough to try.

She sucked in her breath. What if his lies and deceptions hadn't been about trying to… to get away with his plots and schemes?

_I let you believe that the dagger was real. I let myself believe it was real enough._

He'd let her believe he'd become the man she wanted him to be. What if he hadn't lied to her or deceived her out of malice? What if he'd been afraid that she'd leave him if she realized that he wasn't yet where she thought he was?

"I did this," she murmured, sinking down into a kitchen chair. "I let him think that even his best could never be good enough for me. I wouldn't stay with someone who made me feel that way. Why should I be surprised that he doesn't want to either?"

She felt tears well up once more, but before she could give in to them, a polite knock on her apartment door startled her. She wiped her eyes hastily on her sleeve and splashed cold water from the kitchen sink on her face.

If that was Rumple, she had a lot of apologizing to do.

When she looked through the peephole in her front door, though, she shook her head with a sigh. Then she opened the door.

"Belle!" Moe exclaimed, holding his arms open wide. "I'd heard you were back!"

Belle forced herself to smile. "Hello, Father."

* * *

Snow was _not_ about to hover over her daughter, who was seated at the dining room table, two books open before her, a furious expression on her face. She recognized one of the books easily enough; she'd found it in her closet one day and passed it on to Henry, noticing how out-of-place her young pupil had been feeling and recognizing that maybe he needed to believe in hope and happy endings again. Since then, she'd had occasion to see it again numerous times, practically on a daily basis, in fact. Had she been able to predict what giving Henry that storybook would lead to… But, of course, she'd been a different person back then.

The other book, though, was new to her. It was a good deal smaller and thinner, and from what she'd noticed before Emma had opened it, its cloth binding was faded and frayed and it had no dust jacket, nor even a title.

She wondered what could be in it to make her daughter scowl so.

Emma had barely said two words to her since she'd come through the door and, while those words had, at least, been civil, it was clear that her daughter didn't want to discuss anything with her at the moment.

Finally, Emma lifted her head and slid her chair several inches away from the table with a vicious scrape. "Seriously?" she asked, her voice thick with rage. "Is there anyone Good in this town who _isn't_ a hypocritical, patronizing—"

"Emma!" Snow exclaimed, forgetting that she'd promised herself she wasn't going to interrupt when her daughter finally started talking to her again.

Instead of blowing up, Emma exhaled noisily. "You remember when Regina held that séance thing and Cora told you about her run-in with your mother?" she demanded.

"It's not something I'm likely to forget," Snow replied, drawing near to the table and, when Emma didn't show any signs of drawing further away, sitting down across from her.

"You remember how, when I heard what she'd done, I said I thought our family was supposed to be the good guys and what Regina answered?"

"That life was too messy for it to ever be that simple," Snow nodded. "Yes."

Emma shoved the unfamiliar book across the table toward her mother. "It's not just our family."

Uncertainly, Snow pulled the volume toward her. "What is this?" she asked.

"Part of an earlier edition of Henry's book. Read."

Snow did. After nearly ten minutes, she looked up with sympathy, but there was a remoteness there as well. "Oh, Emma," she sighed. "I know why reading this is upsetting, but… if you recall, not all that long ago, I had to make a hard decision about whether to give Elsa her best chance to find her sister, or give this town its best chance to survive. For the greater good, I did what I had to, even though I hated myself for it. Giving Baelfire that bean so that he'd get Rumpelstiltskin out of the Enchanted Forest and send him where he wouldn't be a threat to anyone else—"

"I don't believe I'm hearing this," Emma cut her off. "No. Scratch that. I do." She reached across the table and grabbed the books back. Then she got up and grabbed her jacket off the coat rack.

"Emma!"

She spun around then. "Whether you want to admit it or not, if you can justify what Blue tried to do, then you've just lost whatever high ground you had left. She wasn't helping Baelfire get his father back. She was manipulating a boy's love for his father and using it to make _him_ the instrument to remove a threat. And if you ask me? That sounds a lot like the way Zelena used his love for his father to trick him into bringing him back!"

"Emma—"

"No. You can talk about the 'greater good' all you want. But here's the thing. If I'd come to you and—without mentioning names, just asked you what you'd think about a person who'd manipulate a kid like that? Tell me that the first words out of your mouth wouldn't have been something along the lines of, 'What has Rumpelstiltskin done now?'!"

Snow's hand flew to her mouth. Then she lowered her eyes and shook her head slightly.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Emma said coldly. "I'm out of here."

"Emma!" Snow exclaimed. "The-the book could be wrong about Blue's motives."

Emma zipped up her coat. "Yeah, I guess there's a first time for everything. But from all the stuff August told me about the properties of the ink that goes into writing these volumes? I don't think this is it." She pulled open the front door. "Don't wait up for me."

* * *

As happy as Belle was to see her father, she wished he hadn't arrived now. She wanted to put her dinner in the microwave, eat, call Emma to pick her up, and drive to the convent. She didn't want to catch up or talk about her trip to New York—though another time, she would have been bursting to share her adventures. She was trying to find a polite way to ask her father to leave, only half-listening to what he was saying, until a stray phrase made her prick up her ears.

"…knew you'd eventually come to your senses. Now, I'm going to see whether you'll have to go through with a divorce or whether you can just get it annulled."

"Sorry?" Belle said, a bit too calmly.

Moe French smiled at his daughter. "I've never made any secret of my feelings for the man you thought you loved. I was prepared to accept the situation, when I saw that it was the only thing that would make you happy, but I knew it was a mistake from the start. You have no idea how relieved I felt when I learned that you'd finally seen him for the beast he is."

"He's no beast," Belle said tersely. "He's my husband."

"That doesn't have to be permanent," Moe replied. "Belle, there's no shame in owning up to your mistakes and moving on. You don't have to keep going down the wrong path, just because you've stayed on it this long."

Belle's eyes widened. "I don't, do I?" she said.

"Of course not!" Maurice smiled warmly. "Just make a clean break with the past and forge ahead."

Belle smiled. "Thank you, Father," she returned. "I'm sorry, you've come at a bit of a bad time."

"Right," Moe said. "Of course you're tired after your trip. We can talk tomorrow." He hugged her. "Oh, Belle. I'm so glad you've realized that you never should have taken up with that monster. Don't worry. In time, you'll forget how miserable he made you. There'll be another to replace him. Someone better. You'll see."

She wanted to set him straight immediately, to tell him that it wasn't Rumple she meant to abandon, but the mold of the perfect husband she'd forged in her mind and been trying to force Rumple into. She wanted to tell him that it was past time she recognized and owned the mistakes that she'd made in her relationship, instead of trying to justify and rationalize them away. She wanted to tell Moe that Rumple might have made her angry and frustrated, but she had _never_ been miserable with him…

…Until yesterday.

There was so much she wanted to tell him, but if she did so now, she realized that he'd probably stay here a lot longer, arguing with her and trying to change her mind. And she really needed to have her dinner and call Emma. So, instead, she smiled, bit back the words she _wanted_ to say, and replied only, "Good night, Father."

* * *

Emma wondered how she'd ever thought that Blue had a beatific smile. This evening, it just looked condescending. "Truly, Savior," she said, after she'd heard Emma's request, "while your desire to help others is admirable, I fear that there are some who are beyond help. One must count the Dark One in that number."

"And the Evil Queen?" Emma countered evenly, remembering one of the stories in Henry's book

The fairy stiffened and a muscle worked in her jaw. "At the time that I made that pronouncement," she said, "it was the truth."

"But you don't see the future."

"Nobody living at that time could have predicted that—"

"You don't see the future," Emma repeated.

Blue sighed. "I don't," she conceded. "I can only look at how things stand in the present, and I see no reason to risk helping the Dark One."

"I thought," Belle said angrily, "that everyone deserved a second chance."

Blue nodded. "And didn't he receive one after he saved us from Pan?"

August, silent until now, took a step forward. "I don't think," he began, ducking his head in deference, "that it was a fair one."

"Indeed?" Blue's eyebrows shot up. "Did anyone call him to account for his prior deeds? Was he imprisoned—"

"What do you call what Zelena did to him?" Belle demanded.

"—by any _hero_?" Blue finished. "Or are you trying to hold us accountable for deeds perpetrated by another villain?" She didn't wait for a reply. " _We_ excused his past. We exacted no penalties. In fact, we left him to his own devices and he repaid us by entering into an alliance with the Snow Queen, by trapping me and those of my calling in the hat, and by nearly murdering another man."

August's hands were shaking slightly, but he stood firm. "Sorry about this, Emma," he murmured.

"No, it's fine," Emma reassured him, guessing the point that he was about to raise.

He nodded and locked his eyes on Blue's. "You know—or you should—that there were extenuating circumstances. I guess you'll likely argue that if we were going to ignore Rumpelstiltskin's past, he should in turn ignore his history with Killian Jones—"

"Precisely," Blue cut him off.

"But," August said, "it's kind of hard to do so, when you consider that, at the time, Killian Jones was blackmailing him."

"Good doesn't exact retribution," Blue said primly.

"I'm not saying it should. But I think that there are times when it ought to extend a helping hand instead of just… sitting back and watching to see if a person will do the right thing, when they have no reason to want to."

"I beg your pardon?"

August took a breath. "This… this isn't easy for me," he admitted. "Maybe because it's making me think of things I've been trying to forget, things that are hard for me to reconcile with my… concept of Good. Not to mention the magnitude of the debt I owe to you for the life—the _lives_ —you've given me. And please, don't think for one second that I'm not grateful. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you and there's not a day goes by that I'm not thankful."

"You're quite welcome," Blue smiled.

August's answering smile faded almost at once. "Notwithstanding my gratitude," he said steadily, as the tremor in his hands grew more pronounced, "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel now about being… thrust out into the world with little direction and less support."

Blue frowned. "I provided you with a conscience."

"You provided me with someone who didn't know much about curious mischievous kids. Not to mention gullible—I mean, when I got into my first fix, I had _literally_ been born yesterday. And," August sighed, "I'm not denying that I made a whole bunch of bad choices back then. I didn't have a lot of experience and, well, good judgment comes from experience. Experience," he said straight-faced, "comes from bad judgment. But, rightly or wrongly, when I got myself into some sticky situations, I seldom felt as though anyone cared enough to help me. If I was good, I'd have a chance to become a real boy—and as much as I wanted to be one, I also saw that real boys were often hungry and cold and set to working long hours outdoors in all weathers. On the ship to Pleasure Island, I saw real boys with bruises from people who were supposed to look after them. I might not have been flesh and blood, but I was sturdy, I didn't need food, and as long as I dried off quickly when I got wet, I didn't have to worry about rot. Suddenly, not being real didn't seem so terrible. Until I started turning into a donkey," he added.

"You had to learn your lesson," Blue said gently.

August frowned. "If Father had set chores for me to do before I could go outside and play, and I'd dawdled and daydreamed and then been upset to be stuck indoors while all the other kids were running around having fun, then yes. I agree that I needed to learn about priorities and missing out on a good time was probably the way to go. But had I been about to run through a fire, simply because I'd never seen one and didn't have the sense to recognize the danger, would you have made that same argument and watched as I burned? Because it sounds to me as though you just _did_."

"I beg your pardon?"

August jammed his hands into his pockets, but there wasn't much he could do about the way his knees now knocked together. "When I got on that boat, whether I was six _months_ old or six _years_ , I was much too young and way too inexperienced to understand what was in store for me. I was mischievous, yes. Curious, sure. Too stupid or... or naive to ask a few pointed questions? Absolutely. But is there some item on that list of transgressions that would justify my being turned into a donkey and sold as a beast of burden? Because I don't see one." He took another breath. "Don't think that I blame you for my bad choices. They're mine and I own them. But speaking as someone _else_ who was left to his own devices, messed up, and got no support—"

"You had your father and Jiminy—"

"From someone in a position to help me," August continued, "the idea of you just sitting there, watching and passing judgment instead of lending a helping hand and then _blaming_ a person for not spotting choices they didn't know they had? You don't find that the slightest bit condescending?"

"Perhaps, in your case, I was a bit hasty," Blue admitted. Her voice hardened. "But in the Dark One's case—"

"Nobody ever let him know that he'd been given a second chance," Belle spoke up. "You seem to be saying that what happened to August was somehow fair, because there were a couple of people—or a person and a cricket, anyway—who were trying to steer him onto the right path. Rumple didn't even get that much. After everything Zelena did to him, I was the only person to welcome him back after her defeat. I don't know how he was supposed to recognize _that_ as a second chance," she snapped.

"Look," Emma said, "I _get_ it. Because of everything he's done, nobody trusts him. Because nobody trusts him, nobody helps him. Because nobody helps him, he doesn't see any reason why he should help us—unless there's something in it for him…"

"Good deeds are their own reward," Blue cut her off.

"And the last time he did a good deed, he died, only to be resurrected, lose his son, and spend about a year as a slave, then more or less ignored after Zelena was defeated, until we all decided we needed him again," Emma shot back. "Some reward."

"Even if there's something to what you say—"

"And even if there isn't," a new voice spoke up from behind the three supplicants and they turned as one to find Tinker Bell standing there, "if you'll come with me, I'll show you to the library."

"Green," Blue warned, "you overstep."

The blonde fairy's chin lifted. "I know," she said with a tight smile. "It's a nasty habit of mine. One even losing my wings didn't cure. Of course," she added, raising her eyebrows as though a new thought had only just struck her, "the person I lost them for is the same person who freed all of us from the hat. Using a spell provided to her by the same Dark One you're now prepared to stand back and watch die." She looked away for a moment, then steeled herself and met her mentor's gaze once more. "I know it's also his fault that we were trapped there in the first place and I'm not saying we need to help him directly. But I do think that, at the very least, we ought not to hinder anyone else willing to take up his cause."

The steel in Tink's voice matched that of Blue's eyes, and this time, it was the fairy leader who looked away first. "I want no part of this," she said steadily.

"Just as you like," Tink shrugged. She smiled at the others. "The library is downstairs. If you'll follow me…?"

* * *

For the first time in over two weeks, Rumpelstiltskin was alone. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. He still had no desire to spin, particularly since the thought of Zelena's imminent return was stirring up too many recent memories of the last time he'd used the wheel.

Questions, far more questions than usual, were weighing on his mind. Could Henry have been right about the dagger? Was his condition improving? And if so, would it continue to do so or, was this the sort of chronic ailment that cycled through attacks and remissions, always growing progressively worse? He searched his mind for the memories of the Dark Ones who had come before him, hoping for an answer, but such aid was not forthcoming. Apparently, he was the first Dark One to have lived long enough for his current situation to become more than a theoretical concern.

 _But think on it, dearie. Should any of your successors find themselves in your condition, you'll be able to clear up_ their _confusion, won't you?_

That was hardly a comfort. And mostly a lie. If the Darkness consumed him, then there would be no new host. There would only be the Dark One.

_Well then. You know what you need to do to avert that fate._

Or hasten it.

 _Come now, dearie,_ the imp said jovially _. You've been a coward all your days, but perhaps you can, at least, face the inevitable with your dignity intact, instead of crawling and pleading for more time. Uh, it's been a fine run. I've enjoyed you. Truly, I have. But all things end. And while it's a little amusing seeing you finally start to grow a spine of your own, don't you think it's too little, too late at this point? I mean, dying to save the town was impressive, but you have to admit, it's hard to top_ that _. And of course, the opportunity to finally face your dear papa and make him pay for the suffering he inflicted on you does tend to cast a bit of shade on your altruism, no?_

He hadn't been trying to be a hero. He'd been trying to save his son and the woman he loved. No. He _had_ saved them.

 _Temporarily,_ the imp scoffed _. I'll grant you that, dearie. But afterwards? Of course, had you been able to use magic, I mean, had you not been wearing that annoying cuff, things might have turned out very differently._

Rumple couldn't deny it. Magic could have made all the difference.

 _Not could._ Would. _Face facts, dearie. Magic is the only way you've ever been able to keep anyone safe. Without it, why you're back to kissing boots and cringing in corners._

He drew a shuddering breath and half-doubled over, pulling his arms tight to his chest and gripping his elbows.

 _That's right._ The imp's voice had a note of quiet triumph. _Magic may have its price, and at times it's a high one. But isn't it all worth it? I mean, you don't_ really _want a life without it, do you dearie? Without magic… you're back to being nothing._

He closed his eyes in acknowledgment. He was caught. His Dark power might be killing him, but he couldn't live without it. Or wouldn't. It was all much the same. He'd rather die than go back to being nothing… But he didn't want to die. And if he could prolong his life somehow…

_You know how…_

The savior's theory…

 _Is only a theory. But the recipe for that ink? Now, that's a fact. So,"_ the imp giggled _. Are you going to gamble your life on a half-formed notion by a neophyte practitioner who didn't even know she had magic until two years ago and only just started learning to use it, perhaps three months ago? You don't actually think she's uncovered a loophole that's eluded every wizard since Merlin, do you?_

Rumple sucked in his breath. And then, he sat up straighter. There'd been… something fleeting in the imp's tone, something his mockery had almost—but not quite—masked. Something… with which Rumple was all too familiar. A note of _fear_. His eyes flew open and a slow smile came to his face. "Well," he said aloud, "I rather suspect that _you_ do."


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: While, for the most part, I'm in favor of Disney's more gender-inclusive backstories, I'm sadly up against the reality that there were no bona fide lost girls in Neverland (unless we count Wendy). So, to keep the OUAT canon intact, I'm keeping the original gender dynamic from another Disney property.

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

 

"So," Tink said, smiling as she led the others down a stone spiral staircase, "what precisely are you three looking for?"

"Mostly," Belle replied, "information on Merlin."

"Biographical, you mean?" Tink asked briskly. "Or did you want one of his spell books?" Her smile turned apologetic. "I'm sorry if I'm making you repeat what you already told Blue; I only came upstairs in the middle of Pinocchio's speech. And by the way…." she elbowed August in his ribs and released a peal of laughter, "That was _wonderful_!" she exclaimed. "I don't suppose you have a copy in longhand, or could write one? Just so I could look at it when I need something to raise my spirits a bit?"

August shook his head. "Sorry," he murmured. "I wasn't planning on saying all of that. It just… came out."

"Oh, no," Tink gushed. "Please, don't apologize. At least I got to hear some of it. I'll make do with that." She turned back to Belle.

"So… Merlin?"

Belle hesitated. "Actually, we're looking for information _about_ his spells and artifacts, not the spells themselves."

"Hmmm," Tink said, her playful demeanor vanishing. "Well, he did create many. Spells _and_ artifacts, I mean. Not something I've had much chance to study, I'm afraid." She gave another laugh, a little one this time. "As you probably know, I was still in training when Blue took my wings. Now that she's given me another go at fairy-dom," one corner of her mouth quirked up a trifle sardonically, "I spend most of my days down here playing catch-up." So saying, she pulled open an arched wooden door, reached up, and yanked on a beaded brass chain-pull dangling overhead. There was a click and the room was immediately bathed in light from a many-candled chandelier that hung suspended from the ceiling.

"Oh!" Belle exclaimed, finding herself in a large chamber lined with bookcases from ceiling to floor. Additional shelves surrounded wooden tables and chairs, partitioning the room into low-walled cubicles.

"Well," Tink laughed, "it's nowhere near as large, nor as extensive as the library _you_ manage, but it suits our needs. Unfortunately," she continued, "I'm more familiar with titles like, _1,001 Things You Probably Didn't Know Fairy Dust Was Good For_ or _Mini-Hoop Skirts and Other Fashion Faux Pas_ … oh. Sorry! That one's actually the working title for a manuscript I'm currently writing. Don't tell Blue…" she added hastily. "But, yes," she herded them toward one of the cubicles. "We do have quite a bit on Merlin. His spell books are here," she gestured toward one of the smaller book cases. "But you said that you were looking for theories and commentaries. So," she pivoted on her heel and pointed to the top shelf of one of the floor-to-ceiling units, "those would start here. And then, they continue…" She scanned the angular script on the spines of the books quickly, "continue… continue… continue…" she murmured as her gaze moved down the bookcase, then up the adjacent unit, "Hmmm… we do have a lot, don't we?" She walked slowly along the wall, her eyes panning the shelves. "Ah!" She'd stopped six bookcases away. "Here. This is the end of the Merlin section. Next comes Par-Salian, then Gandalf and Allanon."

Emma's jaw dropped. "This is going to take months!" she blurted.

Tink frowned. "Maybe it would help if you could be more specific."

Emma hesitated. "I… guess there are three main topics we're trying to learn more about: Dark Ones, Authors—well, their ink, really—and the hat."

Belle blinked. "The hat?" she repeated. "I thought… I mean… If we're looking for a way to save Rumple, surely there's one that won't involve crushing Hook's heart."

"If that was what I had in mind," Emma said quickly, "I wouldn't be looking for answers in a library of Light magic. But it's _Merlin's_ hat, _Merlin's_ people who're… hiring Authors, _Merlin's_ magic that created the Dark One dagger, and now, everything's coming together and I don't think it's a coincidence."

"No," August said. "You're right. Merlin might not be directly involved in what's been going on lately, but too much of his stuff has been turning up around here lately for it to be random happenstance." He turned to Tink. "Don't suppose you have anything here on his house, by any chance? May as well cover all bases."

All playfulness vanished from Tink's face, though her smile remained. "You'd all best sit down. I'll bring you what I can find." She darted out of 'their' cubicle and returned a moment later with a stepladder. "This may take me a little time, but I'm confident I can find what you're looking for a bit faster than you lot will if you go looking on your own." She reached up, pulled down a leather-bound volume with pages edged in copper. "Please don't go about trying to reshelve these when you're done," she added. "I know where everything belongs; I'll put them back for you."

"Not right away, I hope," Belle said. "We may need more time than we have this evening."

"Oh, no," Tink said, her smile mischievous once more. "I'll need to leave them lying about long enough to infuriate Blue…"

* * *

Rumple wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting in his living room before he finally unclenched his fists and uncrossed his arms. His shoulders felt stiff, his ankle was throbbing, and every bone in his body seemed as though it was heavier than usual, but his mind felt strangely light and he blinked as though someone had flung cold water in his eyes and he'd been shocked wide awake.

And the voice that had been whispering at him almost constantly was gone. He was, at least for the moment, alone in his head, as he was alone in his house. But while the latter circumstance left him with a painful emptiness, the former gave him some much-needed peace. For the first time in a long time, he felt whole.

The Darkness hadn't truly left him; he'd be a fool to think it had. Where would it go, after all? But, for the moment, at least, it wasn't nagging or giggling or trying to persuade him to think the worst of those who kept demonstrating that they truly did have his best interests at heart.

He'd never thought that they'd allow him to return if they'd understood what it would take to save his life. Not without some deal imposing all manner of checks and concessions, at any rate. Not only had they understood his situation almost from the start, they'd spent time over the last two weeks examining the problem, looking at it from different angles, coming up with possibilities that he'd been too locked in his own mindset to consider. Maybe the savior was flailing about, trying to find a way to save herself without abandoning him, but while that was, in all likelihood, part of her thought process, her arguments were all too sensible and thought out. She wasn't grasping at straws. She was pounding in spikes, strong and solid enough to lift _both_ of them clear of the abyss they were teetering over.

And she wouldn't have come up with her theories…

…Unless she'd truly been looking, not for excuses to keep him out of Storybrooke, but reasons to justify his return.

Unless she'd been in his corner from the beginning.

His Darker nature would have hooted at that notion, would have reminded him that nobody ever spared him a thought unless they needed his services, that polite indifference to his situation was the best he could hope for or expect. But in its absence, his mind replayed every sincere apology, every hand that had reached out to clasp his arm or shoulder, every listening ear, every attempt to work with him instead of back him into a debt or a deal, and he realized that he knew better.

He'd taken on Darkness to protect himself and his boy, but it was that same Darkness that now sought his destruction. Or, more accurately, had been seeking it all this time and finally stopped pretending otherwise. Everything it had given him had been an illusion, one which had been slowly killing him.

But everything that the others had done for him in New York, done for him without an agreement, or a contract, or any other coercive measure… had been _real_. Tears coursed down his cheeks and he didn't bother trying to stop them; there was nobody else here to notice them. If he'd ever had this sort of support back in his peasant days, he'd never have accepted the ersatz version that the Darkness had been handing him. He wasn't prepared to say that he would never have become the Dark One; Bae's life had been at stake, after all, and he would have still done all he could to save it. But perhaps, once that initial heady rush of power had subsided, he would have been better able to control the force residing within his head, instead of enthusiastically absorbing everything it had offered.

All magic came with a price. He'd put off paying it, and now the interest that had accrued over the centuries was far greater than the original debt. He'd thought that there could be no way to diminish what he owed, that—at best—he could delay the inevitable a bit longer, even if the reckoning, when it came, would be that much steeper.

He looked at the dagger and wondered whether it was just wishful thinking, whether the very faint outline of the 't' in his name had been there earlier, or whether it was even there now and not just his mind seeing what it wanted to.

He didn't know and, right now, it wasn't as important as something else was. If he truly meant to take this second chance that was being extended, then there was something he needed to do now, before the Dark whispers began again.

Rumpelstiltskin reached for his cane. And then he rose from the chair and walked to the carpeted staircase that led to the second floor. His ankle barely protested as climbed the eighteen steps without pausing and headed for the master bedroom.

He slid his hand under his pillow and allowed himself a triumphant smile as his fingers closed on the charm. He wasn't about to cast any new magic; the price and the risk were far too high to even consider it. But he knew his Darkness well enough to recognize that it would mount its next attack when his guard was down. When his will was weaker. When he slept. True, as the Dark One, he seldom needed to. But he had a feeling that an exception was in the offing.

He slid the charm's leather cord about his neck and tucked it into his shirt. It wasn't precisely like the one he'd once made for Henry. That one had been designed specifically to help the victims of a sleeping curse deal with the traumatic after-effects. But while this one was meant for ordinary dreams, the principle was the same: he would control the direction his dreams, not the Darkness that seemed more and more to be separating from him. _Much like a rat deserting a sinking ship_ , he supposed. Except that this rat seemed to be bent on taking hold of the tiller and plotting its own course.

Rumpelstiltskin had just about had his fill of being controlled by others. He pulled the charm out once more and gripped it tightly, willing it to work as it should, doing his utmost to make himself believe that it would.

If he could keep his Darkness at bay, then perhaps, there was a chance that he might survive this after all.

* * *

Emma let her gaze pan down the page of the volume before her and wondered exactly what she was supposed to be doing here. She couldn't read a single one of the spell books. Instead, Tink had found her some sort of language primer. It wasn't helping much. Fairy didn't use an alphabet exactly. From the way Belle had described it, it sounded a bit like what she remembered learning about Egyptian hieroglyphics, back in junior high; a sort of blending of consonants and pictograms.

"I should've known," she moaned, rubbing her eyes. "If Gold couldn't master this language, then how could I expect to? And how does he think—?"

"It can't be read by practitioners of Dark magic," Tink spoke up from behind, startling her. Emma glanced over her shoulder at the fairy. "What?"

"Fairy script can't be read by those who use Dark magic," the fairy repeated. "Just like we can't make head nor tail out of Daemon or Efreet."

"I'll take your word for it," Emma muttered. "But that doesn't help me much. I don't suppose there's some spell someone can cast that'll teach me how to understand… this?"

Tink considered. "Not teach you to understand it, I'm afraid… but to read?" She hesitated. "There might be. I've never tried this before. I don't dare do it on you directly." She frowned. "I… don't suppose you have a pair of spectacles? Reading glasses would do."

"Contact lenses?" Emma asked, bringing her fingers to her eyes. "I haven't worn glasses in years."

"I'm not sure," Tink admitted. "I know glass will hold the spell. We didn't have plastics back in our land, though. Well," she took a breath, "I can try. These aren't your only pair, are they?"

"No," Emma shook her head, "but if they break, I guess we're walking back home after this. No way I'm driving at night if I can't see properly."

"Well," Tink said, holding out her hand for the lenses, "I'm sure we can provide you with accommodation for the evening, should it come to that. And, hopefully, it won't," she added, as Emma dropped the two lenses into her palm. The fairy cupped her other hand over them, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

"I think I can do something with these," she said. "It won't be perfect; magic and spell books are traditionally written in Old High Fairy, which doesn't generally translate to mortal languages very well." She heard Belle snort and her smile broadened. "There's a reason why Merlin recorded so many of his thoughts in our ancient language. While, as I said, it's impossible for a Dark wizard to read, it's difficult for almost any non-fairy to decipher easily. There are a number of safeguards built directly into the language and style. What I'm doing to your lenses," she added, as she took one hand off of the contacts, reached into her uniform blouse, and pulled out a leather pouch that hung from her neck on a narrow strap, "will make it _possible_ for you to read the books." She opened the pouch and reached in with her thumb and index finger. When she withdrew them, Emma could see something glowing between their tips. "You'll still need to focus to understand what it is you're reading," she continued, as she rubbed her fingertips and a fine shower of fairy dust sprinkled onto the lenses. For a moment, Tink's entire palm was bathed in a soft pink glow. Then it faded and the fairy held the lenses out to Emma once more.

Emma reached into her pocket and pulled out a small case. "Cleaning them won't wipe off the spell, right?"

Tink shook her head with a smile. "It won't, but I shouldn't think you'd need to. The magic took care of that."

Emma smiled back, but she still opened the case and pulled out a bottle of cleaning solution. "Just in case," she murmured. "I mean, these are my eyes we're talking about."

"Actually," August said, "if you ladies don't mind, I think I'm going to head off."

"In the storm?" Belle and Tink asked, nearly as one.

August nodded. "Yeah, it won't be so bad. At least the streets are salted. I promised my father I wouldn't stay out too late."

"Are you okay?" Emma asked, seeing something in his face, made all the more apparent once she'd re-inserted her contacts.

August closed his eyes briefly. "Let's just say that being selfless, brave, and true can be a little draining sometimes. What I said before… I had to. That doesn't mean I want to face Blue again tonight." He shook his head. "It just… took a lot out of me, that's all. I'll be fine." He let out a noisy breath. "Eventually."

"Hey," Tink grinned, punching his forearm lightly. "I meant what I said before. You did good."

"That doesn't mean there won't be consequences," August sighed. "But thanks." He smiled at the other two women. "Guess I'll probably see you in a day or so."

Emma and Belle nodded. Then Emma picked up her book again. "Whoa," she exclaimed. Before her eyes, the strange, spidery script seemed to rearrange itself into clear, bold English. She reached for one of the books at the top of Belle's stack and opened it. Right away, she could see what Tink had meant. This was going to be like reading Shakespeare without Cliff notes or annotations. But she could read it now, even if it still didn't make sense. At least, now, there was a chance that she could make some headway.

Tink had provided them with pens and scrap paper for taking notes. Emma took a sheet now and began jotting down what she was reading, hoping that it would help her make sense of the text before her.

* * *

The house had never seemed so big or so empty before, not even when Belle had moved out of it and into the apartment behind the library. He was used to being alone, he told himself fiercely. He preferred it. He didn't need anyone else about him, not now that he was back home where he belonged. He…

He was reaching out for his phone, trying to come up with some pretext to call one of the others. He jerked his hand back as if the device were a red-hot ember. He didn't need them. More to the point, he didn't want to appear needy and pathetic before them. Whatever he'd been reduced to in the world outside, here he had his image and his reputation and only _he_ knew it was all a façade. And it was going to stay that way. He didn't know how they hadn't seen through him until now, but he wasn't about to provide them with further opportunities to do so.

He tried not to admit the possibility that they _had_ already seen through him, and that they _wouldn't_ think him pathetic if he were to reach out to them. The savior had declared that she considered him a friend earlier and she hadn't sounded as though she'd been exaggerating the relationship to spare his feelings. He was going to call…

…And say, what precisely? That he was afraid to sleep? That he missed them already? That—no. No, he'd been alone for decades and it was better that way. The savior was probably at the convent, trying to find some way to help him. He wasn't about to tear her away from _that_. And Booth was likely catching up with his father after two weeks away. And he couldn't call Belle. Even if she wasn't likely at the convent as well, even if he'd rather her company now than this desolate silence, calling her now would send all the wrong signals. It wouldn't be fair to her. No, he couldn't call her.

But he didn't think he could stay here either.

Rumple hesitated for a moment. Then he walked to his vestibule and took down his coat. Perhaps, there was nobody that he was comfortable calling, but that didn't mean he needed to be alone…

* * *

There was a harsh wind blowing and August lowered his head and did his best to bury it in his jacket collar for warmth. The snow was still coming down, and there was no Snow Queen to blame for it this time, only Mother Nature. There weren't many vehicles out on the street, but the plows were still circulating and the town seemed to be in better shape than it had been on their arrival.

Despite his fleece-lined jacket and Bugaboots, he was shivering. He couldn't believe he'd said those things to Blue. She'd brought him to life, which technically made her the closest thing to a mother he'd ever have. Even in his puppet days, he'd been too much in awe of her to challenge or question her methods.

He was so lost in his thoughts, he barely realized when someone brushed against him in passing with a, "Par'n me, guv."

August nodded absently. Then, after the other passerby had gone several steps ahead, he turned, looked over his shoulder at August and smiled. It seemed that, for a moment, the elderly man's eyes glowed a sinister red. August gasped. And then, the man went on his way and, in a moment, had vanished in the swirling snow.

"No," August whispered. "It couldn't be him. He's dead."

A gust of wind walloped him and he seemed to hear a voice crow, "Hi-diddle-dee-dee!"

This time, his shiver had nothing to do with the cold. He had to get home, where he'd be safe…

He couldn't go home. His father would notice that something was the matter. And if August told him everything, he knew that it would only cause Marco needless pain. The past couldn't be changed. Marco hadn't known the first thing about having a child, let alone a feckless, flighty, trouble-maker, like he'd been. Marco had been on his own since he was a boy not much older than Pinocchio had appeared when first animated, and he'd grown up just fine with Jiminy looking out for him. How could he have known that his son would need a different approach?

August would have nightmares tonight. He was sure of it. Dwelling too much on past bad choices almost always triggered them. He _definitely_ couldn't go home now.

Down the street, a door opened and light and conversation, and the smell of old beer spilled out. August winced. More temptation. But if he drank himself into a stupor, it just might ward off the dreams, albeit temporarily. Maybe that was all he needed. Get drunk tonight, find somewhere to stay, make it home after Marco had already left for work, and sleep everything off tomorrow during the day, when his nightmares wouldn't disturb anyone other than himself. It wasn't a great plan, but it would do.

He squinted up at the sign over the door. "The Eggshell Brewery," he said aloud. He made a mental note to add Thomas Crofton Crocker to the list of potential past Authors, when he got around to updating it again. Just when he thought he'd found most of them, he stumbled upon another name. Well. Time enough for that tomorrow. Or, considering how he meant to spend tomorrow, perhaps the day after.

In a day or two, he'd pull himself together. In a day or two, he'd be there for Emma, for Rumpelstiltskin, for his father, and for anyone else who might need him.

Tonight… he just needed to drown his demons. In ethanol.

He ducked his head guiltily as he stepped into the 'Brewery.

* * *

He hadn't come here to drink. He wouldn't have taken the Cadillac if he had. Besides, he had an ample supply of liquor at home—most of it of far better quality than the fare here. No, he'd just wanted to be someplace not so well-lit, where he wouldn't expect to encounter the people who generally burst into his shop seeking assistance. And the Eggshell Brewery lighting was poor enough that most of the patrons probably wouldn't realize he was there. He hadn't minded the anonymity in New York as much as he'd expected to. At least, not for the most part. He was glad to be home, but here, he was going to have to get used to furtive looks, mumbled excuses, and hasty getaways all over again. They'd never bothered him much before, but he couldn't say that he was looking forward to them now.

To his surprise, he spotted a familiar face almost immediately. August Booth was sitting at a table alone in a far corner, a nearly-full shot glass with some sort of creamy liquid before him. Booth was, however, sipping something clear out of an iced tea glass by means of a bent straw. Rumple paused for a moment, wondering what had brought the puppet here and whether he ought to bother asking. Then Booth looked up and Rumple saw a haunted look in his eyes, one he'd last seen over a week ago. He debated with himself for another moment, before he made his way over to the table.

"If you'd prefer to be alone," he greeted him, "I'll sit elsewhere."

Booth shook his head with a reluctant smile. "Probably not the best idea for me, right now," he admitted. As Rumple pulled out the facing chair and sat down, Booth added, "It's just club soda. I thought about something stronger. Even ordered it," he added, gesturing toward the shot glass. "But it seems I haven't got much taste for the stuff after all."

Rumple frowned. "Are you quite all right?" he asked.

Booth shook his head. "No. Not… quite," he replied. "I… guess I did something that took a lot out of me, tonight and it's… haunting me. Or something else is," he added in an undertone.

Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "Something else?" he repeated. "Do tell."

August hesitated, but only briefly. "I thought I saw someone tonight in the storm," he said. "Someone I'd heard—I'd _hoped_ was dead. Or, at least, that I'd never see again…"

* * *

Emma massaged her forehead with one hand, as she scrawled notes with the other. "Are you actually getting any of this?" she groaned.

Belle looked up. "I understand the language rather well," she said with an understanding smile. "But the metaphor and allusions to historical events that were important to the fairies but barely registered for mortals…"

"Yeah," Emma nodded. "I guess it'd be… I had to study American history in school. Sometimes, the material overlapped with _other_ countries' histories. It's hard to learn about the world wars without covering a _little_ of what was going on in Europe and the Pacific. But really, we mostly focused on the battles where the Americans were involved, and dealt with the others in passing."

"So, Pearl Harbor, but not Dieppe?" Belle asked.

"Dieppe?" Emma repeated blankly.

"Uh… It was a raid on a port in France. A disastrous one. Almost sixty per cent of the Allied force—mainly Canadians and British—were killed, wounded, or captured."

Emma sighed heavily. "Yeah, sounds like a good example," she nodded. "So, it's as if," she gestured to the book before her, "this was a Canadian… novel, that was written… let's say in the 50s, about a decade or so after that raid. And it's like I'm looking at a line that reads, 'It was like Dieppe' instead of 'it was a military attack gone horribly wrong'. If we don't know what Dieppe was, it's meaningless."

"Exactly, Belle nodded. "Chances are that most Canadians, especially only a few years later, would know about Dieppe—at least the bare bones," Belle nodded, "so there'd be no need to explain the metaphor further."

Emma sighed. "Does this mean that I'm going to have to read up on Fairy history before I can start getting at what Merlin actually wrote? Because seriously? I'm going to have to _be_ a fairy or… or… someone else with a longer lifespan to get through all this."

"Don't say things like that," Tink spoke up nervously from behind Emma's chair. "The last human who used a spell to become one of us… nearly destroyed us. That brand of transformation isn't knowledge we'll share with one not of our order again."

"I-I wasn't seriously thinking of it," Emma stammered.

Tink slowly relaxed. "I know," she said, "but you still shouldn't mention such a thing lightly." She gestured to the books. "As you're discovering, we have rather long memories and some events cut deeper than others." She hesitated a moment longer. Then she pulled up another chair. "I'm afraid that being immortal doesn't mean my time is unlimited," she sighed, "but perhaps, I can at least help you get started…"

* * *

 

August knew how to tell a good story, Rumple reflected. He could see why the Sorcerer had considered making him the Author. When the puppet was finished, Rumple was silent for a moment. Then he took a sip of the tonic water he'd ordered when a server had come 'round and said, "If it sets your mind at ease, I can confirm for you that the Coachman _is_ dead."

August sucked in his breath and held it for a few seconds before exhaling. "You're certain?" he asked. "I mean… no offense, but sometimes reports can be exaggerated or falsified."

Rumple snorted. "True enough, dearie, but when you've seen a man's shadow torn away with your own two eyes, it's not something you forget…

* * *

_He'd tried to forget Hamelin for far too many years, and for the most part, he'd been successful. But every now and again, it reared its head again in his thoughts. The delegation from the village of Crone's Pass stirred up that old memory once again with their talk of missing children and their plea for his help in finding them._

_One had even mentioned hearing that he'd come to the aid of a village in similar circumstances, over a hundred and fifty years earlier. Apparently, his reputation for rendering aid—for the right price, of course—had overshadowed the truth of the matter: Hamelin had been the site of one of his greatest failures. Not only had he not retrieved its children; Hamelin had been—at least, to his mind—the point when Bae had truly begun to leave him. For the woman's temerity in mentioning the place, Rumpelstiltskin had nearly turned her into a goose, but he'd managed to check his irritation and remind himself that she was a woman half-mad with grief over the loss of a son._

_He'd heard out the delegation, set his price and, once they'd accepted it, sent them away and cast his scrying spell. The face that appeared in the bowl of still water showed the telltale flicker of a glamor spell. Rumpelstiltskin didn't recognize the round-faced, white-haired gentleman with the reddish nose, but he knew that it wasn't the man's true face, so it didn't mean that their paths had never crossed. The man was driving a coach filled with boisterous children to a pier where a ferry awaited. Laughing, the children—only boys, from what he could tell—disembarked from the coach and raced up the gangplank. As Rumple watched, the coachman smiled pleasantly until the last boy was aboard. Then his smile turned to a leer and he rubbed his hands together gleefully. As Rumple continued to watch the scene in the scry, sailors brought wooden cages out of the boat's cargo hold, each containing two or three donkeys crammed into space that might have sufficed for one. When the last cage was on the dock, the gangplank was pulled up and the boat pushed off._

_A long sinister sailing barge pulled into the berth where the boat had been docked and, at the coachman's direction, workers began loading it with the caged donkeys._

_And then, a shadow fell upon the scene as a boy swooped down from above and perched atop the barge's mizzen mast. Rumpelstiltskin's breath caught. His father hadn't aged a day since last he'd clapped eyes on him._

_"A good day to you, sir," Pan called down from his vantage point. "I see you've amassed for yourself a fine herd here. Wherever might you have acquired them?"_

_For a moment, Rumple read alarm in the coachman's eyes. Then, he smiled jovially and returned, "And a good day to you, my boy. That was quite an impressive leap. How did you manage it?"_

_There was a menacing undertone to Pan's grin. "Not telling," he said. "But perhaps, if you were to answer my question first…"_

_"Am I to understand," the coachman asked, "that you're looking to procure one of these beasts? Because I'm afraid that this lot has all been spoken for in advance. But if you come back an hour earlier on the morrow, I'll have ample fresh stock and I'll be happy to set one aside for you."_

_"One?" Pan laughed. "But I want them all!"_

_The coachman chuckled. "My boy, I've over fifty donkeys on this barge, each selling for upwards of eight silver per head. Some of the larger ones fetch twelve. How much were you thinking to spend?"_

_Pan was still smiling, but now the dangerous note in his voice gained ascendancy. "Not even half a copper," he returned. "But I will leave with your stock and you will have no new shipment on the morrow."_

_The coachman's smile vanished for a moment. Then it returned in force. "Well, as I said, this shipment's purchased and paid, but perhaps…" He rubbed his hands together again. "Perhaps, we could come to some sort of agreement."_

_Pan somersaulted lightly down from the masthead and landed several yards away from the coachman. "What kind of agreement?" he challenged._

_"Well," the coachman said, "that boat that just pushed off was headed for my stockyards. I've one leaving every day. Perhaps, you could join the boys on the next journey and… I'll find a way to collect the proper cost."_

_Pan appeared to be considering the offer, but Rumple frowned at the scrying pool. His father might be acting the part of a naïve youth, but Rumple knew he was far too cunning to not be suspicious. And it was obvious to anyone but an imbecile that the coachman was hiding something. Then, Pan's grin broadened and he extended his right hand for the coachman to shake. As the coachman reached for it, though, Peter jerked back the hand and, with his left, flung an unsealed pouch over his shoulder onto the barge behind him. "Actually," Pan said, "I think not."_

_As the pouch hit the deck, a cloud of dust swirled out. Instead of coating the planked flooring or dissipating in the breeze, it whirled and swirled, creating a foggy curtain that reached to the top of the mainmast, obscuring the deck and everything on it. In their cages, the donkeys brayed. And then, the brays became coughs, and from within the curtain, they—and Rumple—heard, first sobs, and then, shouts of laughter._

_The curtain melted and when it did, it appeared that the cages had as well. And in place of the donkeys, were a number of crying, laughing, and cheering boys._

_The coachman took a step backwards. "Who… what are you?"_

_"The name's Peter," Pan said, smiling dangerously. "Peter Pan." The coachman gasped, and his reddish face grew several shades paler. Pan's eyes brightened. "I see you've heard of me."_

_"Ye-yes," the coachman stammered. "What… what is it you want from me? The-the boys? Take them! With my blessing. They're no good to me in those forms, anyway."_

_Pan nodded. "Indeed I shall and I thank you," he said. His gaze was thoughtful. "We're somewhat alike, you and I, aren't we? We both seek out boys who yearn for fun and adventure and carry them off to a place where they can indulge those whims. I suppose I ought to thank you for saving me the trouble of searching this lot out for myself."_

_The coachman began to relax. "You're welcome, of course," he fawned. "Happy to be of help," he added, extending his hand._

_Still smiling, Peter started to reach for it. Then, as before, he pulled his hand back and dropped his smile. "Actually," he snapped, "I hate competition. Almost as much as I hate slavers." He flipped backwards onto a nearby stack of crates, then leaped over the coachman's head to land behind him. And then, before the coachman had fully processed what had just happened, Pan reached out and casually tore away the coachman's shadow._

_The coachman let out one unholy scream and fell to the dock, dead._

_Pan didn't spare him a second glance. "All right, boys!" he proclaimed loudly. "You're free! Now how many of you want to come to a_ real _island of pleasures?"_

_A few of the former captives started to edge away, but most roared their approval._

_Pan sighed and looked at the malcontents. "You're sure? This opportunity isn't likely to come your way again."_

_One of the boys nodded nervously. "We-we're sure. Our parents must be worried. Thank you for saving us, but we need to get home."_

_Pan sighed. "Well, if you must," he said. "But if ever any of you should change your minds… leave your bedroom window open and think of Neverland and maybe, just maybe," he grinned, "you might get a second chance."_

_He pulled a second pouch out of his belt. "As for the rest of you… Follow me!"_

* * *

When Rumple finished talking, August let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose some people would say I ought to feel sorry for anyone meeting their end that way," he said, "but I don't."

"Nor should you, in my opinion," Rumple murmured. "It wasn't so long ago that someone told me that Good doesn't exact vengeance and, perhaps, it doesn't. But that doesn't mean it can't appreciate someone getting their just desserts."

August sighed again. "I try not to think about that time in my life too much. It… tends to make me relive things I ought to get past. But talking to Blue tonight, I had to bring up some old history and, I guess it's been in my head."

Rumple hesitated. "Have you considered… talking to someone? I mean, someone besides me."

"Like who?" August asked.

"Well, Doctor Hop…" his voice trailed off.

"Yeah," August nodded. "I've already got one conscience dragging me over my past. I'm not involving the other one."

"Your father?"

"Still doesn't know about everything I went through. He never wanted to hear about it at the time, told me it was over and I was better off forgetting about it and moving on. I always thought he just didn't want to know all the details of how badly I mucked things up." He shook his head. "Whatever Blue did after she turned me back into the boy again—I mean, the second time, here in Storybrooke—it took away my memories—not just of being an adult, but of being a puppet. I mean, I knew my origins, but I couldn't remember anything clearly that happened before the first time she made me into a real boy. It was a real second chance," he rested his elbow on the table and lowered his forehead into his hand. "One I ruined when I told Regina she could change me back."

"Well," Rumple said quietly, "I suppose I understand something of lost chances and… concealing truths thought too terrible to voice aloud. And," inspiration seized him, "I… might have felt a draft coming in from one of my windows earlier. If you aren't going home right now, perhaps, you wouldn't mind taking a look?"

And, Rumple reflected, if Booth came back to the house with him, it might make it easier for him to fight off the next salvo fired by his own Darkness.

"I could do that," August said, a small smile playing about his lips. "It… it might take me a while, to repair it, though."

"Well," Rumple said again, "I think it ought to be seen to tonight, but I know better than to hurry a craftsman into doing slipshod work. Take as long as you need."

When he extended his hand, he didn't pull it back until August had clasped it, first hesitantly and then heartily, in his own.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

Emma could already smell the hot cocoa from the hallway as she unlocked the door to the apartment. Clearly, her mother was waiting up. She gave a mental groan. She was exhausted, she had a tension headache, and her contact lenses had her seeing rainbow rings about every street lamp and headlight, as though she'd opened her eyes too many times underwater in a swimming pool. Tink had assured her that the effect would fade, but she'd driven far more slowly than she otherwise might have.

All she wanted to do was go to sleep. Despite having spent most of the day sitting down, it had been an exhausting day. And even if her mother was trying to be nice, it still didn't excuse…

…It still didn't give Emma the right to act like a spoiled brat. And she could almost taste the cocoa. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

Her mother was sitting in the rocking chair, wrapped in a blue housecoat. There was an empty baby bottle on the table beside her and she was holding Neal against a towel-draped shoulder with one hand, while she gently patted his back with the other. She smiled when Emma came in. "I'm glad you're home. I was worried about the roads."

Emma rubbed her eyes. The light over the table seemed brighter than she remembered. And it also had rainbow rings. "I'm just going to take out my contacts," she murmured.

"There's more cocoa in the pot, if you want some," Snow called after her hopefully.

Emma hesitated. She didn't need caffeine this late, but chocolate didn't have nearly as much of it as coffee or tea would. And the smell was already making her mouth water. She realized suddenly that she hadn't eaten a thing since supper, nearly six hours earlier.

"I opened a fresh cinnamon," Snow added.

Emma walked past her to the bathroom without answering. When she emerged a moment later, though, she walked over to her valise, unzipped it, and pulled out a cardboard box. "I'm still mad," she warned, setting the box down on the table and opening it. "But I'm also hungry. Have some," she added. "The rugelach might be a little stale, but the cookies are probably okay."

Neal chose that moment to burp and Snow smiled and rocked him gently for a few moments, before getting up to put him back in his crib with a kiss on his forehead. She headed into the kitchen area to snag two plates and a second mug before resuming her place. She the mug and one plate down before her daughter, kept the other plate for herself, and got up again.

"I can get the pot," Emma said.

"No, you're exhausted," Snow said. "Besides," she waved toward her own mug, "I could use a refill."

Emma reached for a cookie and bit into it. "Hey," she sighed, as her mother returned with the cocoa pot, "thanks."

Snow smiled and started to pour. "I am sor—"

Emma shook her head. "I know, but it doesn't change anything and I don't feel like talking about it tonight."

"O-okay," Snow said, the smile that had already been forming on her lips dropping away. She took a chocolate chip cookie from the box and took a larger bite than usual.

Emma felt a pang of remorse. "You called it," she said, when she swallowed the last bite of cookie and reached for a second. "I'm exhausted."

"You-you don't owe me an explanation."

"Yeah, well, I've spent the last couple of weeks trying to get away from thinking about who owes what to who and maybe I ought to keep going."

Snow was about to remind her daughter that she shouldn't take it personally and that the Dark One had always been like that. Then she read the tension in her daughter's face, remembered her daughter's pained question about the second storybook earlier, and raised her mug. When she set it down again, she asked softly, "Would you like to? Keep going, I mean? I mean… talking?"

Emma sighed. "I'd better get some sleep. I've got a feeling someone's going to call the sheriff's station tomorrow to report fireworks going off on Main Street."

"Sorry?"

Emma sighed again. "According to Dad, Killian's going to be at Gold's shop tomorrow to try to repair the damage he caused. And much as I'd like that to go down peacefully… At least, back when Regina was trying to hurt you, the feeling wasn't mutual."

"You think…?"

"I think that leaving those two alone is a seriously bad idea. I also think that Dad happens to be right: Killian wrecked the shop. It's only right that he fix what he can. But given the history between them…"

Snow nodded. "Are you and Killian still… seeing each other?"

"I don't know," Emma admitted. "That date we had back when Elsa was here had a few… tense moments. I know he told me afterwards that Gold did a number on his head, and I was ready to give him another chance. But after this…" She sighed. "I… guess I know what it must have been like for Belle when she first fell for Gold. Because I do have feelings for Killian and I don't want to call things off. Only…"

"Only?" Snow prompted.

"Only Gold is Henry's grandfather and, if things had worked out even slightly differently, he could have been my father-in-law. And," she added a trifle defiantly, "we're friends." Her eyes were locked with her mother's as she made the pronouncement, half-daring her to say something. But while Snow's eyes widened slightly in surprise, she only nodded. "I guess," Emma said, "I have feelings for both of them. Different feelings," she added hastily and she couldn't quite hide a smile at her mother's near-palpable relief. "No, I am not interested in-in _dating_ Gold. But he matters to me and so does Killian and… I should probably just stay out this and let them handle things, like I'm—" She stopped abruptly. Her mother would know soon enough about the falling out between Belle and Gold, but she didn't need to hear about it from Emma. _Earlier today, I told them that they were both my friends. Friends shouldn't spread gossip about each other. Especially not to people who_ usually _can't keep secrets_.

"But if I do that…" Emma continued slowly, "Look, whatever you think of him, the truth is that he's had to deal with a whole lot of crap by himself. And yeah, part of that's by choice. But part of it? Is because he never had any reason to expect anyone else to give a damn about him. I know what that's like," she added.

"So, you don't want to mix in, but if you don't, you're worried that Rumpelstiltskin is going to think that you're… abandoning him?"

Emma nodded after a moment's hesitation. "Like he'll think that now that we're back in town, I'm just going to let things revert to the way they've always been and-and leave him alone until I need some favor from him. And if I'm going to go back to the way things were, then why shouldn't he?"

"Emma," Snow ventured, "are you…?" _Are you sure he hasn't already,_ was what she was about to say. But before she could complete her sentence, two scenes from earlier that day flashed into her mind; the expression on the Dark One's face as he returned his— _their_ —grandson's embrace, and the way Emma had defended him that afternoon. It was the latter instance that made her rethink what she'd been about to say. She and Emma were having a civil conversation right now. And given its content, Snow had a feeling that saying anything critical of Rumpelstiltskin at this juncture would shut that conversation down immediately. "Have you discussed this with either of them?" she asked finally.

Emma shook her head. "I only started thinking about it on the drive home. I sent Killian a text asking, him to be on his best behavior." She gave her mother a pained smile. "Okay, I used the term 'good form'. With those two, though? Any little thing could set them off and we both know it."

"Maybe," Snow said slowly, "you should be at the shop in the morning, before Killian gets there. Just… to make sure things don't get out of hand."

"I don't want to take sides," Emma admitted. "It's been going on for so long, I can't help thinking that anything I try to do to smooth things over between them is just going to be stepping into the crossfire." She closed her eyes. "And I know emotional blackmail isn't going to work on either of them, not permanently anyway."

"Emotional blackmail?"

"Telling them that if they want me or my son in their lives, then they need to stop feuding and shake hands or something. It's just going to end with their doing what they want to behind everyone else's back."

Snow thought for a moment. Then she considered what advice she'd give, if Rumpelstiltskin wasn't one of the involved parties. She took a deep breath. "Why don't you… tell them what you're telling me?"

* * *

"That should do it for now," August said, as he finished smoothing the rope caulk. "Once the weather turns warmer, we can do a more permanent fix."

"Well," Gold said, "I'm obliged. I… suppose your father is expecting you?"

"He is," August nodded. "On the other hand, I don't think he'd like me walking in this if I had any other options." He tilted his head quizzically. "I-I mean, I hate to impose, but it's going to take me awhile to walk home from here and Father doesn't drive at night anymore if he can help it."

"Expecting me to drive you home at this hour would be a greater imposition," Gold returned crisply. "If you'd prefer to brave the elements, I'm not about to keep you here against your will. But I should point out that there are no fewer than four spare bedrooms, three of which haven't been used in… approximately thirty years."

August's eyebrow shot up. "So, you're saying that you don't actually know if they're comfortable and you'd like me to test at least one of them by spending the night."

"Well, if you're reluctant to venture out into the storm, then I may as well get some further use out of you," Gold retorted with a thin smile.

For a moment, he worried that the joke had fallen flat. But then, Booth grinned back and said, "No problem. I'll just need to call my father and let him know about the change in plans. Uh… you open the shop at nine, right? If you've got an alarm clock, I'll set it for seven and get out of your hair early."

"There should be one in the room," Gold nodded. He debated with himself for a moment before he continued, "I believe I'll stay awake to read for a bit. Should you find yourself unable to sleep, I… find I've grown slightly accustomed to your company."

August nodded. "I'll keep that in mind. And… thanks. For everything."

How long had it been since he'd accepted a simple expression of gratitude as payment for a favor? And yet, as he gestured to Booth to follow him upstairs, Rumple rather thought that he was getting the better end of this deal.

* * *

Rumple was glad he hadn't been sitting idle while Booth had been fixing the window. He hadn't been certain whether the young man would take him up on the offer to stay the night, but he'd recognized that the possibility of his doing so was considerably greater than it might have been on any previous occasion.

But after an absence of roughly two months, the house had accumulated quite the layer of dust and while Booth had been busy repairing the bay window, Rumple had been getting one of the spare rooms in order. He supposed he'd need to hire some sort of service to deal with the rest of the house; at present, the cost of a magical cleaning was higher than he'd like and his ankle would start to throb if he spent too long on his feet. And that was even assuming that he'd have enough time.

Time…

Once again, he pulled out his dagger and shook his head. If the inscription was faring no better, at least it was faring no worse. He didn't doubt that Henry believed what he'd seen, but he would have liked to observe the evidence for himself. He held the dagger closer to the lamp and confirmed that the faint outline of the second 't' was still there. The _very_ faint outline. The outline that was so faint, in fact, that it might have been there all along and Henry had missed seeing it. Or, it might have been absent until today, when he'd taken a second look at the inscription. He wished he could be sure.

And, sitting in his kitchen, downing a cup of lemon grass and ginger tea, he half-wished that Booth hadn't already turned in for the night. Another conversation would be a willing distraction from dwelling upon the ordeal that awaited him in the morning.

He was trying to fight his Darkness, he was trying to do what he could in the days remaining to him to maintain the friendly and familial ties so recently forged. Maybe it _was_ too little, too late, but he was trying to be the person he'd managed to become for Bae and Belle before he'd died, however briefly. And tomorrow, he would be spending an extended period of time with the person most likely to scuttle that ambition.

The worst of it was that he couldn't just order the pirate out of his shop. To do so would be tantamount to waiving his right to restitution. He could _almost_ do so, but he knew it wouldn't help matters. By now, the contents of that tearful voice message he'd left over a fortnight ago had to have trickled out. The town might not know the full details, but the rumor mill was sure to have picked up on the fact that he was dying. If he were to send Hook away without exacting some sort of vengeance, the pirate was certain to take it as proof that first, Rumple dared not use magic, and second, that he was just putting on a show because he was desperately hoping that people would think kindly on him once he was gone. All of which was mostly true, but he didn't need the whole town talking about it.

Rumple gripped the armrests of his upholstered chair until his knuckles whitened. He was going to be on his best behavior if it killed him…

…Because doing anything less might kill him all the more quickly.

* * *

By eight the next morning, Emma was sitting at a table in Granny's and downing her third cup of coffee. She'd been up most of the rest of the night trying to come up with the best way to say what she wanted to and she still wasn't satisfied. No matter how she tried to phrase it, it was going to smack of deals and ultimatums. She wouldn't be surprised if she was going to end up alienating both Gold and Killian. But if she didn't say anything…

…If she didn't say anything, then she hadn't learned anything either. Not saying anything was exactly why, after Zelena, Gold hadn't thought that anybody in town gave a rat's behind about him, except for Belle. It wasn't just what Gold thought either. Emma wondered whether Killian would have even tried blackmailing Gold—even for help in locating Anna—had he believed for one moment that the rest of the town would condemn him for it.

Callous… clueless… If she did nothing now, maybe she'd have to add _cowardly_ to her list of possible excuses. She looked at the time again. It was only ten past eight, but the shop might be open. If she were Gold, she'd want some time to settle in before Killian arrived. And if she were Killian, she'd want to show up as early as possible and get an unpleasant task over with.

…Which meant that if she waited until nine when the shop was _supposed_ to open, both it and the block on which it was situated might be nothing but smoking ruins.

She signaled the waitress. "Could I get the bill, please?" she asked. "And another coffee for the road?"

* * *

Emma parked on the side street between Gold's shop and the harbor and waited until she saw Killian walk past. When he did, she got out of her car and slowly walked the quarter-block to Main Street, just in time to see Killian open the door to the shop. She was close enough to hear the bell jangle as he entered and she waited for it to close once more. She took another minute to collect her thoughts. Then she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She winced when she saw for the first time that the Venetian blind that normally covered one of the shop's windows was missing and that there was a large piece of cardboard covering the pane. Not large enough to completely obscure the network of spider-web cracks in the glass, though. She shook her head and walked forward.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered, as she pushed down on Gold's door handle and followed Killian inside.

She couldn't help but notice the relief on both men's faces when she walked in. The store was a shambles with shattered glass and scattered knickknacks everywhere. The globe light fixture overhead had been smashed and with only the sunlight filtering through the blinds over the intact window, the shop was dimmer than usual. Emma took it all in, but fought to keep her focus. As much as she dreaded what was probably about to happen as soon as she started talking, she couldn't let herself get sidetracked either.

"I…" she hesitated for a moment and studied her boots, and the way the shards of broken glass sparkled on the floor. "I came in to say something. I know this is probably a bad time, but it's also probably about the only time I'll find you both together, so," she raised her head and looked from one man to the other, "I figured I'd try anyway."

Both men blinked. Each shot a quick glance at the other as though trying to divine whether one of them had asked her to come by, then looked back to her once more. For a moment, nobody spoke. Then, Gold's hands locked tightly around the wooden frame of what had been a glass display counter. "Very well, Ms Swan," he said, his shoulders taut and his face studiously blank. "Say what you must."

Emma still hesitated, her glance flicking toward Killian. It was only when the pirate nodded as well that she took another breath, jammed her hands into her jacket pocket and began. "I-I'm sorry. I've been… uh… practicing or rehearsing what I was going to say and I still don't know if it's going to come out right, but…" She wanted to look down again, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact, shifting her stance so that she could watch both men without having to turn her head. "I want both of you in my life." The words were out before she could call them back and she couldn't believe she'd released them with no preamble or build-up of any kind. "Obviously," she added with a faint smile, "for different reasons. But the way things are now… It feels like I'm going to have to… to flip a coin or set up a rotation or something, every time there's some sort of gathering or get-together or whatever."

She locked eyes nervously with Gold. "You're Henry's grandfather. Even if the last two weeks hadn't happened, you're family and it's past time the rest of us started acting like it. At least, it's past time I did."

An almost imperceptible crack appeared in Rumpelstiltskin's heretofore unruffled façade and he ducked his head quickly in acknowledgment.

Emma nodded back and turned her attention to Hook. "I-I don't know what the future holds for us, Killian. I do know that after years of keeping my walls up, you make me feel like it's okay to risk taking them down a little. Sometimes," she added with a smile.

Her face grew serious once more. "Don't get me wrong, Killian. I can't believe you did," she gestured to the mess surrounding them, "all of this and it's going to take me a while before I can put it all in the past. But," she sighed, "I respect that you're here now, taking responsibility, trying to make good. And, as I just said… I do have feelings for you." She hesitated.

"But here's the thing. If the two of you are going to be at each other's throats every time you're in the same room, I don't know if the town's even going to be standing in the next six months."

"Come on, Swan," Hook said. "Eight weeks ago, he was about to crush my heart. And that was after he'd forced me to trap the fairies—"

"—After you tried to destroy the only light I had in my life—"

"Right," Hook shot back. "I wouldn't have bothered, had I known you'd manage to do that all by yourself!"

"How _dare—_ "

Emma sucked in her breath. Then, before either man realized what she was about to do, she lunged forward and slammed her shoulder into about the only thing she was reasonably sure was strong and heavy enough both to make a loud enough noise on impact _and_ survive a drop to the floor—Gold's antique metal cash register. It hit the floor with a satisfying crash, startling both men and—Emma was sure—bruising her upper arm. "Will you two cut it out?" she demanded, massaging her right shoulder with her left hand. "Seriously, you're both, what? A couple of hundred years old? Quit acting like a pair of third-graders. I'm not asking which of you started it. I'm _telling_ you it's time to finish it. And just to be clear, I mean without killing, maiming, keelhauling or turning anyone into a toad."

She glowered at Gold. "And before you get all excited, those are examples, not… not _terms_!" She stopped. "Parameters," she amended. "I meant to say parameters."

She took another breath, kept massaging her shoulder, and reminded herself not to look at either man for too long or they'd assume she was singling that one out as more responsible. "Really, you guys? I'm not making threats or deals. I'm begging you. Find some non-lethal, preferably non-painful way of dealing with this… conflict. Draw straws. Play checkers. Back opposite teams in the playoffs." There was no hint of a smile on her face. "Move past it."

"Or you'll shut us both out of your life?" Hook demanded.

Emma shook her head. "No. I just told you I wasn't making threats. I guess I'm asking for a favor. From each of you. I'm asking you not to put me in a position where I have to decide who comes to the next potluck and who comes to the next school play or-or soccer game or math Olympiad or whatever. Either you two figure out how to be civil enough to each other that you can stay in the same room without planning or-or worse _trying_ to kill each other, or _you_ work out some kind of fair rotation. Not me."

Her gaze flicked from one man to the next once more. Neither looked happy, but each nodded slowly. Emma smiled to herself, remembering something Neal had told her about how he'd once told Hook that the pirate and the Dark One were much alike. _I mean, they aren't really, but sometimes…_

She realized that they were both looking back at her and that first, she'd run out of things to say and second, she'd stalled too long to make a dramatic exit. She shook her head. "I'd better head over to the sheriff's station," she murmured, "and see what's doing. I mean… if it's safe to leave you two alone."

Gold sighed. "If I were to kill him now, the task of repairing this devastation would devolve upon my own shoulders."

"I gave your father my word that I'd set things right," Hook said, as calmly as though he'd been discussing the weather. "It'd be bad form to break it."

"Okay," Emma said. "I'll stop in later and check how things are. Uh… sorry about the cash register." She stooped down to try to lift it and stifled a cry as her shoulder throbbed.

"Swan!" Hook exclaimed. "Here. Allow me."

"Thanks." Emma looked at Gold. "You wouldn't have any ice, would you?"

Gold regarded her thoughtfully, as Hook set the register back on the counter. "I believe I should," he replied. "Wait here."

He returned a moment later holding a medium-sized clear plastic bag filled with ice cubes. "If you were planning to join us for lunch," he said, "you might return at twelve-thirty sharp."

"Do you want me to bring anything?" Emma asked.

Gold shrugged. "I placed an order with Mrs. Lucas before I arrived. If you're able to collect it, I'll call the restaurant to advise them."

"You got it." She glanced at Killian, who held up a small canvas satchel.

"Thank you, I brought my own provisions."

"Okay." Emma noticed that Gold had a small sack tucked under one arm. "What's that?"

"Not your concern at the moment," Gold said, with the barest hint of a smile. "Twelve-thirty, then?" He frowned. "Are you certain the ice is sufficient, dearie?"

Emma forced herself to smile through the pain. "Yeah, once it's numb enough, I should be able to focus enough to heal it. Barring some unforeseen emergency, I'll see you at lunch then." She turned to include Hook. "Both of you."

As the door closed behind her, Rumple turned to the pirate. "Well. I suppose you'd best fetch the broom and start sweeping up the glass," he said mildly.

Hook raised an eyebrow and tensed, waiting for the Crocodile's snap. After a moment, Rumple turned his head meaningfully toward the corner, where a broom and dustpan awaited. Hook pursed his lips together. Then he stalked toward the broom, keeping his guard up, even while he ruminated on what Emma had said.

* * *

Emma spent the morning filling out paperwork and filing reports. A lot had piled up since the new Dark Curse had resurrected the town and it didn't look as though her father had made much headway in her absence.

Emma shook her head. There were still many reasons to be angry with her father, but the mountain of untouched paperwork was nearly as much her fault as his. The town had been through more than one crisis since its return. Plus, there was a new baby in the house and her father was trying to be there as much as possible, both for her mother's sake and because her parents had both missed watching one child grow up already. Emma understood that. It still hurt a little to know that her parents were going to be there for her younger brother in ways that they hadn't been for her, but now that she knew the whole story, she didn't blame them for sending her through the wardrobe.

What they'd done to Maleficent, though…

Emma shook her head. She just couldn't get past that right now. She wanted to, well, part of her did anyway, but while her anger had subsided somewhat, it was still simmering. It was one thing to tell herself that forgiving didn't mean condoning, but in her heart, she had her doubts.

She looked at the time and realized that it was past ten-thirty. The phone hadn't rung since she'd been here, there'd been no explosions, and Leroy hadn't burst in bellowing about terrible news. She hoped that meant that everything was all right and not that Killian and Gold had managed to take each other out somehow. She'd know in nearly two hours, regardless. She sighed. Probably a good idea to head for Granny's early. Not too early, but before the lunch rush really started.

She reached for another report. This one was on the burglary at the Miata dealership. She glowered at the culprit, who smirked at her from his cell. Then she started reading the report and her eyebrows climbed. The dealership had a sophisticated electronic alarm system. Will had bypassed it with ease. Clearly, he was adjusting to twenty-first century technology with few difficulties. Maybe that skill could come in handy. After all, it wasn't as though Storybrooke was set up for long-term incarceration—unless one counted the lower level of the hospital. Somehow, it seemed wrong to keep a petty thief down there. If he could put his technological savvy to good use... maybe along the lines of what Neal had been doing in New York...

Emma rubbed her forehead. She was getting too far ahead of herself. And Will's disposition wasn't up to her anyway. Better to deal with the present. She'd get Gold's order and pick something up for herself. And she'd also make sure that there was something for Killian, just in case he'd worked up more of an appetite than he'd thought. Something she or Henry wouldn't mind eating later, if it turned out that he hadn't.

* * *

While polishing the knickknacks and observing the pirate at work, Rumpelstiltskin had ample time for thought. And his thoughts were both on the speech that the savior had made that morning and on what Henry had said about his dagger.

He knew he was dying. Unless someone changed the ending to his story, he had scant time left to him. And yet, if the boy was to be believed, that time might be increasing.

He stepped into the back room for a moment and pulled the dagger out of his inner pocket. He sighed. If he could only be certain that five letters had been gone entirely the first time that Henry had checked, he'd have a better idea of what he was dealing with. He looked at it again: _Rumpelstil…_ But the next letter, the second 't' hadn't completely vanished. The letter's outline was faint, as though it had been etched in preparation for an engraver. In dimmer lighting, it would be even harder to detect. It might have been that way from the outset.

But according to the savior, more letters had fallen away and then reappeared only a short while later.

He didn't dare allow himself to hope too much. Some conditions were characterized by attacks and remissions, after all. Eventually, the attacks grew more frequent and the remissions more fleeting. It was possible that his name would wax and then wane on the dagger as his condition bettered and ultimately worsened.

But if that wasn't the case…

If that wasn't the case, then there was another possibility. He couldn't be certain of exactly when the letters had begun to reappear. Henry hadn't spent all of his time sitting and staring at the dagger, logging the time of each change. But there was room to believe that the improvement had commenced just around the point when he'd told Emma to take Belle back to Storybrooke and leave him behind.

The point when he'd taken a step away from his Darkness with no expectation that anything positive could come of it. When, as the savior had put it, he'd taken a leap of faith.

He wondered. Was the dagger the only thing that was changing? Or…? He put his hand to his chest and stopped. Magic or not, he had to do this. He had to see what it looked like now, if only so that he'd have something to compare it to in a day or so. He had to.

He couldn't.

He pulled his hand away. He wasn't ready to see the state of his heart now. He didn't want to know how little red remained. He'd trust the dagger for now.

He went back to the shop floor to see what the pirate was up to.

* * *

After over an hour, Rumple grudgingly admitted to himself that Hook was no shirker. He imagined that the pirate had, quite sensibly, reasoned that the sooner the job was done, the sooner he could vacate the premises. Rumple could support that. He had no reason to desire prolonging the pirate's company.

Of course, he kept a careful eye on the other man. One needed to be certain that no object that Will Scarlet might have missed would find its way into anyone else's pocket. And that was how he became aware of the pirate's dilemma.

As instructed, Hook had swept the broken glass into several large piles, before turning to carpentry to repair a broken corner on the wooden framework of one of the display counters. Rumple wondered as to the reason why the pirate had left those piles, instead of sweeping them into the dustpan and disposing of them. Then he realized what the answer had to be.

He battled with himself for the next ten minutes, as the pirate moved to a display counter with a damaged corner and read the instructions on a can of wood filler that Rumple had set out (along with various other tools and equipment) prior to the pirate's arrival. He watched as the pirate silently, without checking to see if he had an audience, added wood hardener, blended it and applied it to the edge of the framework with a ready putty knife.

Rumple shook his head and picked up an undamaged knickknack to polish. As he worked, he found his thoughts straying to Emma's visit. He couldn't deny that he'd been expecting it. Expecting her to use the relationship she'd claimed to have with him as leverage to get him to call off his designs on the pirate's life. Expecting her to advise him, however apologetically, that now that they were back home, it was probably best for matters to revert to the usual status quo and that their friendship would remain, but at a suitable distance. Expecting her to finally request the concessions that, perhaps, decency had kept her from asking of a man when he was weak and destitute, but now that his circumstances had changed, she had every reason to believe he'd do as she bade him out of gratitude.

He likely would have, too. Perhaps with a modicum of disappointment and some measure of resentment, but he would have.

He would have understood how to act in any of those scenarios. He would have understood threats or deals or temporary friendships forged from convenience or pity.

But this? The savior had made it clear that she considered the camaraderie they'd forged in the outside world to be a beginning, not a fleeting aberration. More to the point, she wasn't wielding it as a weapon to attempt to manipulate him into doing as she wanted without paying his price. And as difficult a thing as she was asking, he couldn't fault her logic. If he and the pirate didn't agree to some sort of truce—one that would stick—Emma was quite right. Their animosity was likely to engulf the town.

There weren't many people for whom he genuinely cared at this point. But there were several, all of whom might become collateral damage, should this blood feud persist.

Blood feud. The term stirred a memory within him. In the aftermath of Cora's death, he'd been explaining the nature of the thing to Emma, telling her that the only way to settle one was with the spilling of more blood. At the time, he'd genuinely believed it. But less than two years later, the only new death resulting from that feud appeared to be the feud itself. Snow White and Regina had put aside their differences without pomp or fanfare and were now close friends.

Rumple pressed his lips together thinly. He didn't want the pirate for a friend, close or otherwise. Not at all. And he was reasonably certain that the feeling was mutual. But, he realized, he did want Emma for one. And he couldn't deny the rush of warmth that had flooded him when she'd stated baldly—in front of the pirate—that she wanted him in her life. And in her son's. Well, yes, she'd said both him and the pirate, but she'd included him. Without prompting, without coercion, without feeling sorry for him.

He didn't know much about having—or keeping—friends. But he had a strong suspicion that killing the man Emma Swan seemed to be falling in love with (and really, that only supported the clichés that love was blind and that there was no accounting for taste) would probably be a step in the wrong direction.

Besides, if he only had a short time remaining to him, perhaps he could admit to himself that he'd rather spend it connecting with people who cared for him.

And if Regina could resolve a blood feud without further murders, then he damned well could too. Or, at the very least, he could avoid escalating the existing one. This was his shop. The pirate was here, willingly or not, to make restitution. Currently, Rumple realized, he had the advantage. Perhaps some small magnanimity could be justified. It would likely annoy Hook to no end. Rumple smiled to himself. In fact, it almost definitely would. And yet, where would the pirate find a sympathetic ear for his complaints? What exactly would he be able to complain about? Rumple's smile broadened and he looked up from the figurine he was polishing to see what Hook was doing now.

The pirate was almost finished smoothing down the wood filler. Rumple waited for him to lay down the sandpaper-wrapped dowel he was using on the curve of the frame before he spoke.

"I must say I'm impressed by your industriousness, Captain." He stood patiently while the pirate turned his statement over, looking for any hint of sarcasm.

Finally, Hook gave him a tight-lipped, "Thank you."

"Though one can't help noticing that the first task I set you was left half-done."

Hook eyed the piles of dust and shards with resignation. "It'll be finished before I leave."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Rumple smiled. He walked over to the corner, stooped down, picked up the dustpan and held it out to Hook. "Here."

The pirate's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I didn't ask for your help, Dark One," he said.

Rumple sighed. "You can't manage the broom and dustpan at the same time with only one good hand. As amusing as it might be to watch you attempt it, you'll be done and on your way a bit more quickly if I sweep," he thrust the dustpan at the pirate once more, "and you hold this steady for me."

"What's your game, Crocodile?" Hook demanded, but Rumple couldn't help noticing that there was considerably less venom in his tone than there might have been.

Rumple shrugged. "No game. If you'd prefer to finish the job yourself, then by all means. Take longer."

Hook snatched the dustpan from him. "Fine. But just for this one task."

"Of course."

As the pirate stooped down, the dustpan poised to catch what Rumple would sweep, he mumbled another thank you.

Rumple willed himself not to look at the cane he'd carefully leaned against the wall behind him. He'd spent too many days under the first Dark Curse trying to keep the store tidy with an ankle that throbbed when he spent too much time on his feet, or when the weather was about to change, or when he tried to crouch down to sweep debris into a dustpan or rise afterwards. He could handle the pirate's animosity, but he didn't want to risk his pity. Or worse, that the pirate might actually consider Rumple's actions to be some sort of attempt to curry favor. Instead, he kept his polite smile and, as though Hook's gratitude hadn't come as a surprise, replied only, "You're quite welcome."

* * *

"Nice to see this place is still standing," Emma grinned, almost before the bell over the shop door had ceased its jangling.

Both men looked up. "Come now, Emma," Rumple remarked. "Did you truly think otherwise?"

Emma set the carryout bags down on the counter. "It crossed my mind."

A faint smile graced Rumple's face. "Well. I suppose there's ample reason why it would have. But I meant what I said earlier; I've no intention of being forced to clean up a mess _he_ created."

"Yeah, bad enough you get stuck pitching in with most of ours," Emma ventured and caught a surprised nod from Rumple.

She glanced at Killian, who said mildly, "And so long as the Dark One isn't currently trying to end my life, I suppose our former truce is back in effect. For now."

Gold's expression hardened and Emma unconsciously shifted into a defensive stance. Then he turned aside and said, "While ending your life would be a pleasure, I must point out that we are in a place of business. Wiser heads than mine have commented on the pitfalls of combining business and pleasure, so I believe I'll forbear." He smirked. "For now," he added, consciously mimicking the pirate's tone as well as his phrasing.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Seeing as the sheriff's station's been pretty quiet, maybe I could lend a hand here?"

As both men looked at each other, she wondered whether she should have made the offer. The tension in the shop's atmosphere was still present, but it had abated considerably since the morning. On the other hand, she knew that the two of them were quite adept at pushing each other's buttons. Just because they seemed to be on their best behaviors now didn't mean that things were going to stay that way. And they'd already spent nearly four hours in each other's close proximity without trying to kill each other. While that was probably some sort of record, Emma wasn't sure if expecting matters to continue in that vein wouldn't be pushing her luck.

Finally, Killian smiled. "Well, after lunch, I was planning to replace the light fixture. If you wouldn't mind to hold the ladder…?"

"Sure," Emma grinned back. "No problem. Oh. Gold, before I forget, I ran into August at Granny's. He said to tell you that if you notice any other odd jobs that need doing he's free tonight."

Rumple nodded his acknowledgment, his face betraying nothing but his usual slight smile as he murmured his thanks. August had left shortly after breakfast, in considerably better spirits than he'd arrived. Rumple wasn't sure now whether the puppet's offer was one born out of concern or of need. He found himself wondering whether the reason truly mattered. If August needed someone to listen to his problems, Rumple had to admit to himself that after everything the puppet had done for him, providing a sympathetic ear was probably the least he could do in return. And although Rumple wasn't accustomed to opening up to people and certainly didn't intend to do so for the foreseeable future (which wasn't half as foreseeable as it used to be), if he _were_ to change his mind, then based on some of the experiences that the puppet had already shared with him, Rumple suspected that Booth would be one of the people best qualified to understand what he'd been through and what he was still dealing with. _If_ he were to change his mind.

* * *

The rest of the meal passed in relative quiet. Emma tried to engage the other two in small talk, but finding small success, she gave up and devoted herself utterly to her grilled cheese. Afterwards, she held the ladder for Killian and, armed with a bottle of Windex, set about wiping down the new glass panes that had been set into the display cases without a care for fingerprints. The repairs had released a new layer of dust on the floor, so she got the broom next. Seeing Killian kneeling to replace a baseboard provided the only explanation needed as to why he'd bothered to sweep first instead of leaving it to the end: kneeling on a dusty surface might be messy, but kneeling on one covered in broken glass was downright painful.

It was past three o'clock when the bell over the door jangled once more and her mother hurried in.

"Mom?" Emma asked, seeing the expression on Snow's face.

"Emma. I-I'm glad I found you. I looked at the Sheriff's station first. I would have called but… I didn't know if you'd pick up—"

Emma felt a pang of guilt. "What's going on?"

Snow took a deep breath. "Your father called from the road. He said that they were nearly home. And then, I heard Regina _yell_ and there was a crash and… and the call disconnected."

She lifted a trembling hand and looked at her watch. "That was almost an hour ago."


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

It really was amazing how completely a tidal wave of guilt and worry could sweep away stubborn anger. White-faced, Emma looked from her mother to Killian to Gold. "I… On the way home, when I asked you…" she began.

"I told you the truth then," Gold said after a moment, when Emma didn't continue.

"I believe you," Emma nodded. "But is there something else you can tell me now? I mean, do you know  _anything_  about what might have happened?"

Gold sighed. "Beyond what's likely already passed through your mind? That," he turned to Snow, "when your conversation with your husband was cut off, it was likely due to Regina losing control of the car? No."

Emma took a deep breath. "So, apart from their having been 'nearly home', which could mean anything from 'almost at the town line' to 'Boston city limits', there's no way to figure out where to start looking."

Snow gaped at her. "You're going after them?"

"Someone has to," Emma said.

"But the town line. Emma, if you can't find them… Regina has the scroll. You won't be able to get back!"

"So, let's hope I do," Emma replied. "I mean, what other choice have we got?"

Snow's face seemed to crumple. "I know," she whispered. "I know. But if anything…" She choked. "I-I don't want to lose  _both_ of you."

For the first time in over two weeks, Emma enveloped her mother in a hug. Then she looked at Gold once more. "Is there… is there some spell you can work that might help me pinpoint their location?"

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. "No. But," he said slowly, "there  _is_ one that you can work. Always assuming," his glance flicked to Hook, "that neither the thief's foray nor your admirer's rampage extended to the necessary artifact…"

* * *

Despite the carnage that had been wrought on the shop floor, Emma was pleasantly surprised that the back room was more or less intact.

"Well," Killian muttered when Emma remarked on it, "I wasn't about to destroy anything with the potential to return the favor. And we all know the crocodile wouldn't risk anything truly powerful out front."

Rumple didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he opened a cabinet and withdrew a large white sphere. It was tilted on a metal meridian, like the globe that had graced many a teacher's desk during Emma's school days. But instead of oceans and continents, this one was a featureless ball. Both Emma and Killian recognized it at once.

"That's how you tracked Henry to Neverland," Emma breathed.

Rumple nodded. "And earlier, Bae to New York." He locked his eyes on Emma. "It allows the spell-caster to locate another member of their family line. Unfortunately, I've no blood tie to any of the missing," he added. "But you do."

Emma's eyes widened. "Okay. So, how do I make this work?"

Rumple indicated the spike at the tip of the meridian, where the North Pole would have been located on a globe. "Prick your finger and let a single drop of blood fall on the ball. Wait." He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a sealed bag of cotton swabs. "Let's not overtax your healing abilities, shall we?" Without waiting for a response, he unscrewed the bottle cap, poured a small measure of alcohol into it, and tilted it over the spike. "Use a swab for your finger," he advised.

"Uh… thanks," Emma said. She was about to comply, when she felt cool smooth steel slide about her wrist.

"Wait," Killian said. "Dark One, you haven't yet named your price for allowing her to use that little bauble of yours. What cost do you mean to exact for this favor?"

Rumple blinked. Then a faint, self-deprecating smile sprang to his lips. "Do you imagine, Pirate, that at this point, there could be any possible way that the savior might be in  _my_ debt?" he asked softly, incredulously. He nodded to Emma to proceed.

Wide-eyed, Emma nodded back. She'd never thought herself particularly squeamish, but she closed her eyes as she placed her index finger on the spike and pressed down, sucking in her breath as the metal point penetrated. It stung for a moment, but Emma suspected that it was more from the alcohol than the spike. She opened her eyes, saw her mother looking at her with concern, and nodded that she was all right. Then she shook her finger over the globe until a droplet fell.

"Whoa…" she breathed. Where the blood landed, the outline of a coast took shape and a single line darkened, spread, and stopped.

"Have you a map?" Killian asked, his voice strangely devoid of rancor. "It doesn't appear as though they're far away."

Wordlessly, Rumple laid a road map of New England down on the table. Killian unfolded it. A moment later, he smiled. "They're not even two miles from the town line," he said, jabbing his finger at the map.

"And," Rumple added, "we know that your father, at least, is still alive."

Emma sucked in her breath. "I guess I'd better get going, then. And let's hope Regina still has the scroll."

"Wait," Snow said. "If they're hurt… you're going to need an ambulance. Maybe a tow truck. I…" Her face went even paler. "Oh. Oh… no," she whispered.

Emma closed her eyes. "If Regina doesn't have the scroll, then whoever goes out after them… won't be able to come back." She took a deep breath and opened her eyes once more. "All right. All right. I still have to go out there. At least, I know how the rest of the world works and if I have to get them into a hospital in… in…" she struggled to remember a couple of the place names she'd seen on the road, "Sacco or Augusta, then that's what I'll do." She laid a comforting hand on her mother's arm. "It's not the first time there's been a problem with the town line. Probably won't be the last either." She took another breath. "The most important thing is finding them and making sure that if they need medical care, they get it. We can worry about how to get back here afterwards."

Snow nodded slowly. Then her eyes opened wide. "Emma… how many people can fit in your bug?"

"There are only three of them, right?" Emma said. "Well, three and a chicken and I can put Billina in the trunk, if it's just two miles."

"But if one or more is injured," Rumple said slowly, "I'm not certain that your back seat would be an ideal option."

Emma thought about that and nodded reluctantly. She didn't know much about emergency first aid, but she was willing to bet that even if it was only for a couple of miles, trying to squeeze an injured person into the back seat of a two-door was going to be dangerous. And if more than one of them was injured?

"Could you get me an ambulance?" she asked dubiously.

Snow shook her head with a horrified expression on her face. "Sleepy wrecked one of our two ambulances last week," she whispered. "That leaves us with only one in working order. If it can't come back over the town line and there's an emergency, then…"

"Okay," Emma said. Okay. "First things first. I'll cross the town line in my car and see how… how they're doing. Best case scenario, everyone's okay, Regina has the scroll, and they're just… stuck in a snow bank and, I don't know, Dad's phone cut out at the worst time. I dig them out, we come back, everything's fine. Anything other than that… as long as Regina has the scroll, we can dispatch emergency services to bring everyone back over the line."

"And if she doesn't?"

Emma took a deep breath. "Then, I guess I'm stuck on the other side with them. And…" she hesitated, "I guess everyone else needs to decide whether to join us or stay put."

Snow nodded slowly, realizing what Emma meant. If Regina didn't have the scroll, then she, David, and now, Emma would be trapped outside the town. Henry would doubtless want to follow his mothers. And Snow knew that she would accompany him. She'd meant what she'd said earlier: she wouldn't lose her husband, her daughter, and now, most likely, her grandson, all on the same day. Her gaze flicked to Rumpelstiltskin, who was carefully writing something on a notepad and she felt a pang.

"If they can't get back," she said to him softly, remembering that Henry was Rumpelstiltskin's last blood relation, "if Henry goes with them, you'll—"  _You'll be all alone_  was what she meant to say, but she choked off the words, realizing that he'd almost certainly shut her down, rather than risk displaying any vulnerability in front of Hook.

She was wrong.

Rumple looked up then, and Snow took an involuntary step back as the pain in his eyes seemed to stab through her. But when he spoke, his voice was calm, almost nonchalant, as he thrust the pad he'd been writing on at her. "Might I have your signature, please, Mrs. Nolan?" he asked formally.

"What is this?" Snow asked, taking the pad. Her eyes widened. On the ruled page, in a clear round hand, were the words:

_Last will and testament. I, Rumpelstiltskin, being of sound mind…_

It wasn't long and it wasn't detailed. It simply named Archie Hopper as his executor and divided his assets evenly: one third to Belle, one third to Henry, and one third to be held in trust by Archie and administered to those he'd wronged in the past, allocated as the psychiatrist saw fit.

She looked up. "I-I don't understand."

"Don't you?" Rumple asked quietly. He was reaching his hand into what appeared to be a solid wall. "You're aware of my… condition. By now, you surely must know of the danger I present to the town, even if I've been able, thus far, to set aside my original plan for your daughter." He withdrew a metal strongbox with an ornate clasp. As he pressed his palm to it, there was a faint shimmer of orange fire. Then the lid sprang open to reveal stacks of hundred dollar bills. He scooped up several without counting them and tucked them into his jacket.

Snow blinked. "Emma?" she asked. "What… what is he talking about?"

Emma shook her head and pretended not to see Gold's start of surprise when he realized that she hadn't mentioned anything to anyone about the ink and what would be required for it. "Not important. Gold? What are you doing? What's that money for?"

Rumple gave her a sad smile. "I'm going with you, dearie." For once, there was real affection in the endearment. He held up a hand to stave off her protest. "If I die in Storybrooke, then the Dark One takes over. If I die out there… so does he. I thought that between your influence and Booth's, I might be able to balance his… pull. Perhaps, I could. Perhaps, I can. But I fear that one of you cannot suffice." He shook his head. "After all, if Belle's love couldn't vanquish my darkness once Bae was lost to me…" He stared at the ground for a moment. Then he lifted his head again and met her eyes squarely. "If you leave town… In the event that you find yourself unable to return, then it's safer for all concerned if I'm on the other side of that orange line as well. Besides," he added, "should matters not be as bleak as you fear, should Regina indeed have the scroll, then pragmatically speaking, it will be easier to get an injured party into the back seat of my car than yours."

"But—"

"Savior," Rumple's voice was gentle, "are you certain you've time to argue? Can your father wait for your attempt to talk me out of the best possible solution?"

Hook frowned. "This… selflessness isn't much like you, Crocodile. Not usually. What's your game, I wonder?" But though his words were suspicious, his tone was softer and lacked the bitter edge it usually possessed when directed at Rumpelstiltskin.

Rumple flushed. But when he spoke, his voice was steady. "The town needs its ambulance. As for a tow truck, I daresay the Zimmer twins need their father. But tell me truthfully, all of you: in my absence, before I made the telephone call that brought you," he looked at Emma, "and the others to New York," did anyone truly miss me?"

Snow shifted uncomfortably in place. Killian looked away. Emma closed her eyes. "That was then…" she started to say.

Rumple shook his head. "I'm hardly blaming you," he remarked. "I'm merely confirming what I already suspected. You see, while  _I_  might need this town, or at least its magic," he shook his head, "the truth is, it doesn't need me. In fact, if you'll recall, the last time I did it any real good was… well, when I died. Since my return from  _that_ state, I've meticulously managed to undo every decent thing my death accomplished. Perhaps, this will reverse the trend. Or… perhaps, history will repeat itself." He smiled sadly. "While it's true that villains don't get happy endings, I suppose I can settle for 'meaningful', if I must."

He felt a strong pressure on his hand and realized that Snow was squeezing it with unexpected ferocity. He patted it gently with a bemused expression which quickly turned serious once more. "So," he continued," if you'll do me the favor of witnessing that document?"

Snow bit her lip. Then she nodded and fumbled for the pen he'd laid down carefully on the table. As she pressed tip to paper, Rumple's eyebrows shot up as though something else had just occurred to him. "Before I forget," he added, "there is one old account I'd best settle with you now, as an opportunity may not present itself later." So saying, he reached into his suit jacket pocket with his free hand and pulled out a small embroidered silken pouch.

"What's this?" Snow asked faintly, as she took it and handed him back the pen.

Rumple was smiling. "Oh, let's call it something to remember me by. Hopefully with a bit more fondness than you did when last you saw it. Though, as I believe there's been quite enough emotion publically displayed for one day, perhaps it'd be wisest to wait until we've departed before you open it." He glanced at Emma.

"Savior," he added, as he replaced the strongbox in the wall. "Time's wasting."

"Uh…yeah," Emma said vaguely. "Yeah." She quickly pulled, first her mother, and then Killian into an embrace. "We'll be back," she said.

She locked her eyes on Gold's. "Both of us."

Gold shook his head but his smile was tolerant. "Well, perhaps. Come."

As the bell over the front door jangled and the heavy door shut behind the savior and the Dark One, Hook moved to the wall to examine the spot from which Rumple had taken the strongbox. Though he ran his hands over the entire area, he found no weak spot, nor any indication of a hollow space beyond. Meanwhile, Snow worked open the knot in the drawstring securing the pouch. When her late mother's pearl-and-diamond choker spilled into her hand, she gasped. And then, the tears she'd somehow managed to hold back until now broke free and coursed unashamedly down her cheeks, as she squeezed it tightly and held her hand up to her throat.

* * *

There were cartloads of books to shelve in the library. Not only had Belle departed with Emma and August leaving several full book trucks behind, but in her absence, it seemed as though everyone in Storybrooke had decided to place their returns in the after-hours book drop at once. They probably had, she realized; books were loaned out for two weeks at a time. Still, it seemed as though nobody had taken advantage of the telephone or computer renewal systems.

Much as she rolled her eyes, she didn't really mind. Losing herself in work was probably the best thing for her. Shelving books might be monotonous, but it did require a certain amount of focus to ensure that every book went to its proper place on the shelf. She wondered how much headway she might have made last night at the convent, had the books been scattered about in disorder. Well, she was going back tonight, and hopefully everything was either where it belonged or where—at Tink's urging—she'd left it. She had to keep searching. Rumple's life depended on it.

The door flew open and Snow and Killian burst inside. "Belle!" Snow breathed. "Do you need a lift to the town line?"

Startled, Belled took a step back. "Th-the town line? Whatever for?"

"Rumpelstiltskin didn't call to tell you?" Snow exclaimed. "He and-and Emma, they're… David and Regina are…" She gave up. "Come on. I'll tell you on the way."

* * *

Snow had made several phone calls before stopping by the library. By the time she, Killian, and Belle arrived at the town line, a small crowd had assembled. Emma and Gold were in deep conversation with Michael Tillman.

"Obviously," Tillman was saying, "it would be better if you had something with more horsepower, but even the basic winching kit," he gestured to the open hatch of Emma's bug, where the equipment sat, "is probably going to come in handy. If you need me to talk you through the process, you've got my number."

A young man in a paramedic uniform—Snow thought he worked at the cannery when he wasn't volunteering as an EMT—handed Gold a first aid kit. "Same here," he said. "Just because we won't be out there doesn't mean we can't help."

"Rumple!" Belle called. "Wait!"

She ran toward him as fast as her high-heeled boots would allow. Rumple gave her a sad smile, tinged with regret. "We've delayed long enough," he said gently. "We need to get underway." He hesitated. "If we're unable to return, you might want to pay a call on Dr. Hopper. He'll have something for you."

"Can't… can't you give it to me yourself?" Belle asked.

"I'm afraid it's not that sort of gift."

"Rumple…"

He sighed. "I told you before, Belle. There's nothing to forgive. Now, I must do this. Please."

Belle nodded. But then she threw her arms about him. "You'll be back," she whispered fiercely. "I know it."

Rumple closed his eyes and patted her hair. "Perhaps," he agreed. "But if not, you'll need to make your peace with that. As I already have." He gently disentangled himself from her embrace. "Goodbye, Belle," he said. But his voice hitched when he spoke her name. And as he climbed into his Cadillac, Emma saw a tear gleam in the corner of his eye. Then she hurriedly closed the distance between herself and her loved ones to make her own last goodbyes.

* * *

The first thing Emma did when she got into her car was put her phone on hands-free and call Gold. "I think we'd better stay in touch," she said when he picked up. "You check the left side of the road, I'll check right, and the first one to spot them says something."

There was a short silence. Then, Gold's voice, crisp and clipped as usual replied, "As you like."

"You know," Emma said slowly, "I was just thinking back to when I first came to Storybrooke. Henry'd run off again and trying to track him down led me to the school, where I met my mother for the first time—"

"Your point?" Gold cut her off. "Keep your eyes out for any sign of the others."

"I am," Emma said. "It'll probably be right at the highway junction. Anyway, I asked her about why she gave Henry the book and she told me it was because she wanted him to have hope. Because just believing in the possibility of a happy ending was a powerful thing."

"Still not seeing your point. Slow down," he added. "The sphere indicated a spot close by. We don't want to overlook it."

"Roger that. I was just saying that, when you don't believe something is possible, you… try to move on as best you can. You don't go aiming for something that can't happen. Or, at least, most of us don't. What I'm trying to say is, I didn't know about the scroll. I didn't think there was a way for you to come back, and so I didn't give myself time to think about whether I missed you, because I didn't think there was any use dwelling on it." She hesitated. "And, okay, I was still  _livid_ over your trying to trick me into the hat and then crush Killian's heart."

Gold snorted. "Well, I suppose  _that's_ understandable."

Encouraged, a smile sprang to her own face, as she continued. "The town isn't better off without you. I mean, even if it sometimes seems that way, without your help, the town—or a lot of the people in it—wouldn't be there now. I wouldn't be there. Here. Anywhere. I mean, if it weren't for you, my parents never would've got together, right?"

"Emma…" Gold's voice was gentle. "Thank—" Then, abruptly, "Pull over. I think I see something."

* * *

Michael Tillman was lounging against the side of his tow truck, his eyes fixed at the road beyond the town line. He couldn't see anything of interest, of course; the road curved sharply, nearly a mile off, but he watched still.

Despite his focus on the road and the breeze gusting past, he couldn't quite tune out the conversation going on behind him.

"How long until we know?" Belle was asking.

"I'm not sure," Snow responded. "But in about a half-hour, I'm going to have to go find Henry. He should probably hear about what's going on from me. And… I should probably hear as much as I can about the outside world from him."

"You're going after them," Belle said. "Aren't you?"

"If they can't come back to me," Snow replied heavily, "then I'm going to go to them. When we were in Neverland, it was harder."

"Sorry?"

Snow sighed. "David was dying of dreamshade poison. Killian knew the cure but it was tied to the island. Once David took it, he shouldn't have been able to leave."

"Then… how?"

Snow didn't reply for a long moment. When she did, there was a slight catch in her voice. "Rumpelstiltskin."

Michael was glad that his back was to the two women. He didn't think he'd have been able to hide the surprise on his face—clear evidence that he'd been listening to a conversation not meant for his ears.

"And… and what did he want from you in exchange?"

Snow took another moment to respond. "Nothing. I mean, he said something about how now that we were family, at some point we'd…" A note of horror crept into her voice, "…we'd be receptive toward doing him a favor if he needed it…" Her breath caught. "And we just thanked him and… forgot about it," she said in a voice so low that Michael had to strain to catch her words. "At least, I  _think_ we thanked him. And now, he's…"

Snow took another breath. "The point I wanted to make was that until your husband told us that he could create an elixir to cure David, I thought that I'd have to choose whether to stay with my husband in Neverland or join my daughter and grandson back in Storybrooke. Then, I chose David, even though losing the rest of my family was a decision that almost killed me to make. But now?" She exhaled noisily. "My husband, my daughter, and the stepmother who's become one of my closest friends are all on the other side of that line. My grandson is almost certainly going to want to join them and I can't blame him. This time, I don't have to choose between my husband and my daughter. It's between home and family. And if I don't have my family, then this isn't home. If Regina doesn't have the scroll," she concluded, "then Henry, Neal, and I are going over that line to be with the rest of our family. If anyone else wants to come with us, they're more than welcome. But I will not lose my husband or my daughter again."

Michael's cell phone started belting out "On the Road Again," startling him and he hurriedly pulled it out of his pocket. A moment later, he turned and shouted to the crowd at the town line, "They've found 'em!" Then he quickly went back to the call.

* * *

Regina's Mercedes was halfway down a ravine, its front end submerged in a snowbank. Skid marks and a broken guardrail told the story: Regina must have hit an ice patch and lost control, sliding to the opposite side of the road, and crashing through the metal safety fence. The sun was setting, casting glowing pink patches on the snow, but even in the fading light, they could see the car.

"I…" Emma threw a worried look over her shoulder at Gold, "I don't see any footprints leading away."

Gold's face was serious, but there was a faint note of cheer in his voice when he replied, "You also don't see any blood in the snow." When Emma didn't respond, he continued, "The car's doors are all shut. Had anyone been thrown clear, one might expect it to have been through the windshield or, perhaps, the rear window."

"You think they're okay in there?" Emma quavered. Her vision was blurring and her eyes were burning and she knew that this time she couldn't blame it on magicked contact lenses.

Gold's hand closed fiercely about her upper arm and Emma stiffened in shock. Then quickly, before he could remove it, she brought her other hand up to cover his. "I'm all right," she mumbled. The trouble was, she didn't  _sound_  all right.

"Savior," Gold's voice was steady, "look at the car's position. It's wedged deep in that drift. In all likelihood, the doors haven't been opened because they  _can't_  be. We'll need to dig them out." Then, more quietly, "At least, you will. I don't think my ankle is up for that descent."

Emma nodded. Then she took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's get that winching kit hooked up. Probably better if we hook one cable to each of our cars. I doubt my bug can handle it on its own and with that incline, I don't know if your caddy's up to it either. I'll climb down and attach the other ends to Regina's car. I can hold onto the cables on the way back up."

"Agreed," Gold nodded. "You'll need a shovel; I wasn't being facetious about the need for digging. If we're to haul that car free of the drift, it will be easier if the snow isn't packed so tightly around it."

"Okay. Do me a favor?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wondered whether they'd been the best choice. Asking Gold for a favor might be opening up a whole old can of worms. Before he could respond, she plunged ahead. "Call Tillman on your cell. Let him know what's going on. Wait. When you've got him and I'm at the car, conference us. He's probably the expert on this."

"Indeed," Gold nodded again. "Emma?" he asked hesitantly, but with a gleam in his eye, "if I do you this… favor…"

It took everything Emma had not to vent her frustration on him. "Yeah," she muttered. "I guess I'll owe you. Can we work it out after?"

"No," Gold returned. "I think it best not to leave things dangling. Particularly not when I already know what I'd like in exchange."

She'd been wrong.  _Now_  it was taking everything she had not to give him a sampling of her thoughts on extortion and blackmail and ingratitude and… And somehow, she managed to look him dead in the eye and say evenly, "And what would that be?"

Gold gave her a pained smile. "A caddy is a person I'd employ to assist me on the fairway if I ever chose to take up golf. My car is a Cadillac and I'd appreciate it if you'd refer to it as such from this point forward."

Startled out of her fury, Emma's mouth gaped open. " _That's_  the favor you want from me?"

"With all my heart." His smile broadened. "Now, do you think you're in a better frame of mind to focus on the task before you?"

"What?"

Gold shrugged. "Fear has been known to paralyze a person into inaction on more than one occasion. In my experience a surge of anger can be useful at times for shaking free of it." He looked away. "Forgive me, dearie," he murmured. "I know what you must have thought, but it was the only thing I could contrive on the spur of the moment."

Emma blinked. Then she exhaled noisily. "Okay," she muttered with a slight eye-roll. "You win." She got the winch kit out of the bug and passed one of the rope lines to him. "Hook this one up to your  _Cadillac_. And then, call Tillman."

She set about securing the second one to her own vehicle. Then she stopped. "Hey, Gold?" She waited for him to turn back to look at her before she grinned. "Thanks."

* * *

He wasn't used to explaining himself, but she'd earned it. He'd realized, of course, that she hadn't truly been demanding a  _favor_  of him the way so many had in the past. It had just been a slip of the tongue. But that alone had told him more than the savior realized.

She wasn't waiting with baited breath for him to revert. If she'd believed that he was still trying to deceive them into thinking he'd changed, while all the while, he was still plotting and scheming against them, she'd never have allowed words like 'favor' or 'deal' to cross her lips. Well, perhaps she might, if she were trying to make a too-obvious show of trusting him for some reason. But she wouldn't have made such a slip in casual conversation.

She didn't completely trust him yet, and he couldn't blame her. But if his little test had proved anything, it was that she was trying to. After everything he'd done or tried to do to her, she had every right to be on her guard. And likely, she couldn't help her initial suspicion. But she'd fought it. She  _wasn't_ looking to believe the worst of him. Even when he'd given her good reason to, she'd still given him the opportunity to clarify his intent instead of condemning him outright.

When she'd claimed that they were friends, she hadn't been trying to get some sort of free gift from him.  _She'd meant it._

And while he had no idea whether this state could last or whether, in the end, he'd manage to push her away as he did everyone else, here, at this moment, atop a ravine in the middle of the Maine wilderness, the expectation that she would ultimately come to abandon him didn't feel like a foregone conclusion.

He watched as the savior carefully navigated her way down the slope, holding tight to both cables with one hand, digging in with the shovel to keep her balance with the other. An unaccustomed smile came to his face. Then he pulled out his phone and quickly dialed the number Tillman had programmed in just before they'd crossed the town line.

* * *

The front of the Mercedes hung over a ridge, its sides partly submerged in the snow. Going by the deep ruts, Regina had tried to back out of their predicament, but her rear wheels had found no purchase and succeeded only in digging themselves in deeper. The car looked to be in decent shape, though. The paint bore fresh scratches, evidence of the bushes through which the Mercedes had hurtled, but Emma could see no serious damage. She started to make her way to the front of the car to peer in the windows, when she realized that it might be wiser to secure the winch first. Once the Mercedes' passengers realized someone was out here, they'd try to get her attention, if they were capable of it. And while she wasn't certain whether moving around inside the car's cabin might be enough to send it further over the edge, she didn't want to take that chance until she knew that the lines were secured.

Besides, she didn't know whether that ridge had anything solid underneath, or whether the car currently rested on a pile of packed snow that might fall away at any moment.

She'd just hooked up the first line when her phone buzzed. She yanked it out of her pocket. "Yeah?" she said, wedging it between her ear and her shoulder, as she set about working on the second line.

"Emma," Rumple's voice was steady, tightly controlled, and almost emotionless, "I've Tillman on the line."

"I'm here, Sheriff," Tillman confirmed. "What can you tell me?"

Emma quickly relayed what she was seeing. "Snow's not too tightly packed. I'm about to try digging them out," she added.

"Do you have anything solid you can hold onto?" Tillman asked. "A branch, for example? If you're right about that ridge being unstable…"

"I don't," Emma admitted. "If I had another rope, then maybe I could tie myself to the winch lines, but I don't."

"Okay, get back up to where Mr. Gold is. You're going to need to pull the car back up to the road."

"Won't we risk injuring the people inside?"

Tillman sighed. "If anybody's hurt in there, trying to get them out of a car poised to plunge off of a ledge and then pull them out of the ravine on foot isn't going to be great either. It's not like we can air lift them to safety."

"Sure, we can!" Emma shot back. "If this is life-and-death, I'm calling 911 out here and we'll get the help we need now and worry about coming from a town that doesn't show up on any state maps later."

"I believe that may be a bit premature, savior," Gold's voice cut through her plans sharply.

"Gold—" Emma warned.

"Savior," Gold sounded as though he were smiling. "Turn around."

Before she could, Emma felt a light touch on her shoulder. She spun quickly. A moment later, she was flinging her arms about her father. "DAD!"

* * *

"They're okay!" Tillman called over his shoulder. "Mostly," he added. He turned to Snow. "Madame May—I mean, Mrs. Nolan, your husband is a little shaken up but okay. Zelena's the same."

"What about Regina?" Snow demanded.

A shadow seemed to fall across Tillman's face and Snow remembered suddenly that he had some past history with her stepmother that wasn't altogether pleasant. "Your husband couldn't examine her too well in the car, but he thinks she may have a couple of broken ribs from when her airbag deployed," he said and Snow wasn't sure whether there was sympathy or disappointment in the big man's soft voice. "He couldn't get to her phone to call for help and his got slammed around when the car went over and hasn't worked since."

"What about the scroll?" Belle came forward to ask.

Michael turned back to his phone to ask the question. It seemed to take far too long, though it was likely only a couple of minutes, before the reply came back.

"Yes, they have it!" he proclaimed.

Snow embraced Belle with a glad cry. Killian didn't join in, but the look of fierce joy on his face spoke volumes.

Lachlan, the volunteer EMT motioned to a dark-skinned woman wearing the same uniform he was. "Guess we're up," he said.

"You're going over the line, mate?" Hook asked, not sounding very surprised.

The woman gave him a professional smile. "Trying to get an accident victim out of a car when you don't know what you're doing can cause further damage. We  _do_  know. And with the scroll, we can get back."

"Stay in contact," Tillman nodded after he'd passed on the information to Emma and the others on the other side.

At that moment, a florist's van pulled up and Henry Mills, Granny Lucas—with baby Neal in her arms—and Moe French spilled out. Amid their welcoming shouts of "Grandma!" "Mrs. Nolan!" and "Belle!" Snow's voice rang loud and clear with indignation.

"Tell me you did  _not_  just have my grandson riding in  _your_  van without his seatbelt!"

* * *

Emma tried not to worry about Regina as she watched, first her father and next, Zelena make their way from the car up the embankment, each holding onto the tow lines. She cast another look at the Mercedes and began her own ascent. Above her, she could hear sirens and, for a moment, she wondered whether they were coming from Storybrooke or some other part of the state. Then she remembered hearing something about ambulances not engaging their lights or sirens until they were actually taking a patient to the hospital—and sometimes, not even then. This had to be Storybrooke's volunteer EMT people advising that they were here to help. Emma breathed a sigh of relief and continued climbing.

As she neared the top, she saw Gold clasp David's right hand in his, while clamping his left about David's forearm and helping him onto level ground. She grinned broadly for a moment. Then she realized that it was Zelena's turn.

She stiffened slightly, but moved upward, one hand holding fast to the line, the other reaching out to nearby branches and sharp rocks for support as she watched the witch ascend. There was a small smile on Gold's face as he extended his hand once more and Emma saw his lips part as though he was about to speak. But before he could say whatever he was about to, Zelena seized his outstretched hand, twisted, yanked him over the embankment, and let go.

"GOLD!" Emma shouted. Even if he missed the branches—and especially, those rocks—the fall might… She released her grip on the rope and lunged sideways for him.

Everything became a blur. She saw Gold's brown eyes, wide with terror, his mouth open for a shriek she was never certain afterwards that she heard over the rushing of the wind and her own blood pounding in her ears. Then his weight crashed into her and they slid down several yards, before Emma was able to snag the trunk of one of the bushes in a gloved hand. Whip-like branches lashed her face and there was a wrenching pain in her arm, but her other arm was wrapped around Gold, her legs were wrapped about his knees, and his forehead was pressed into her collarbone. It took her a moment to realize that they'd stopped sliding. "Gold?" she murmured. "You okay?"

A faint whimper escaped him. Then he lifted his head. His eyes widened. "Emma. Y-you—" Then he seemed to realize his surroundings or, more to the point, the position in which he was lying and the anxious faces peering down from the top of the embankment, and he whispered, "I think you'd better release me, savior, before the town gossips acquire some new fodder."

"What?" A rueful smile spread Emma's lips. "Oh. Uh… give me a second." It took almost ten before her legs obeyed her and her ankles uncrossed so that he could slide off of her. "You okay?" she repeated.

He nodded. "I think so. Thanks to you." His expression grew troubled. "I don't see my cane," he said slowly. "I fear I may have lost it in the tumble."

"Well," Emma said slowly, trying to sit up, "maybe we can make it back up together. If not, there are EMTs here. We'll get back up to the road somehow." She frowned. Her fingers didn't seem to want to let go of the bush they were clinging to. "Even if this tree has to come with us."

"Here," Gold crawled toward her and began gently prying her fingers loose.

"Thanks." She remembered something else. "Your dagger. Did Zelena—?"

"I doubt it," Gold said with a thin smile. "It's useless to her out here and I can't imagine she'd think I wouldn't notice it missing before we crossed back into town." He uncurled her last finger and helped her into a sitting position, before he reached into his coat. "Yes," he nodded, pulling it out. "Still…"

His jaw dropped.

"Gold?"

Wordlessly, he extended the blade so that she could see it clearly. This time, there was no possible way to dismiss things. It wasn't some trick of the light. It wasn't their imagination. The second 't' shimmered black on the blade, contrasting with the silver metal behind it, nearly as dark as the ten letters that preceded it.

Emma clasped his free hand tightly in her own. "Let's get you back to town," she said with a wide grin.

Gold gave her a quick, instinctive nod, followed almost immediately by a slow, hopeful smile of his own.

And once again, Emma thought she heard her mother's words echo in her mind:  _Just believing in the possibility of a happy ending…_


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: According to the celebheights website, Robert Carlyle's weight (circa 2015) is 152 lbs.  
> A/N: A huge thanks to Chelsea's husband, who patiently advised me on EMT rescue priorities.  
> A/N: Lachlan MacPherson, Jorine Lynde, and John Ringel are OCs. But I did go to a couple of less well-known fairytales and folktales for naming inspiration...

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

 

 

Had Emma been ambidextrous, she might not have reached out to snag the bush with her right hand. If she'd used her left, then the shoulder she'd wrenched in the process wouldn't have been the same one she'd slammed into Gold's cash register early that morning. And while magic might have masked _that_ pain, the new injury seemed to have overwhelmed the healing spell she'd cast then. That or the spell hadn't been able to survive crossing the town line.

For a few minutes, she and Gold just sat there in the snow, trying to process what had just happened. Then, Emma felt the cold start to seep through her denims and she murmured something to Gold about needing to start the climb up. She braced her gloved hand on the ground, preparing to rise. Then she sank back down with a hiss as a bolt of pure agony seemed to slam into her shoulder. "I'm okay," she said quickly. "Let me use my other arm."

That was when she discovered that her back hadn't appreciated the slide down rough terrain, particularly not with Gold's hundred-fifty-odd pounds or so along for the ride. She was probably one massive bruise from neck to tailbone right now.

"Emma?" Gold asked worriedly.

She wanted to be reassuring, but as her adrenaline levels decreased, her soreness seemed to increase exponentially. "I don't think anything's broken," she murmured. She didn't resist when Gold draped her left arm across his shoulders and slid an arm carefully about her waist. "You really think you can drag me up to the top?" she asked with a wry smile.

Gold shook his head. "I'm hoping that we might be able to reach the tow lines."

"With my shoulder and your ankle," she stated.

"Your shoulder, my ankle, _and_ ," Gold reached for something that was snagged behind another nearby bush, "Tillman's shovel." He smiled. "You must have dropped it. It should do for a makeshift crutch. At least, for the moment."

"Maybe we could call up—" She stopped, released Gold, and rummaged through her pockets. "Great. Don't suppose you can find my phone, too? Looks like I lost it in the tumble."

Gold shook his head. "Not in the scant daylight remaining. Here," he pressed his own phone into her hand. "Use mine. My call with Tillman disconnected in the fall, but I'll phone him back once you've made contact with the team above."

"Thanks." A moment later, Emma's face fell. "I just realized," she groaned, "Dad's phone isn't working. And if I call 911 now, I'm not going to get Storybrooke's emergency services. I'll get whatever's closest here in the outside world!"

Gold regarded her for a moment, his face expressionless. Then, without another word, he took hold of her arm and draped it across his shoulders once more. "The tow-line, savior. Move. Others will use it to climb down to try to reach us and the closer we are to it, the easier it will be for those above to render assistance without falling and requiring it themselves." He smiled and said with forced joviality, "Come on. If I can manage this, so can you."

"Not sure that logic holds up," Emma muttered, as she somehow got to her feet. Her back was smarting, her shoulder ached, and when she took a hesitant step, she winced at a previously-unnoticed twinge in her knee. But she forced herself to smile back and take a second step. "Just go slow," she implored. "Please?"

Gold chuckled. "I can scarcely do otherwise. Here." He sank the shovel blade into the snow ahead of them and slightly to the right. "First the shovel. Then count two and step. One…"

"…Two," Emma finished, moving one foot forward in lockstep with Gold.

"That's right." The shovel bit down again. "One…"

* * *

The words were barely out of Tillman's mouth when Belle roared in a voice Snow hadn't known the librarian possessed, "ZELENA DID _WHAT?_ "

Tillman hastily went back to his phone call. A moment later, he covered the mouthpiece and looked back to Belle. "She yanked him over the escarpment," he confirmed. "He's okay, though, I think. Sheriff Swan managed to catch him before he hit bottom and the EMTs say they're both ambulatory."

Snow and Belle each heaved a sigh of relief. "She's okay," Snow said.

"And so's Rumple," Belle nodded, a wide smile on her face.

Moe turned away and sighed. "For a minute there, I thought that particular problem might have resolved itself."

The words were uttered in an undertone, but Belle had heard. And all at once, she'd taken a few steps forward and circled to stand in front of Moe French. "What did you mean by that, Father?" she asked, in a voice so quiet that it was frightening.

Moe flinched, but he stood his ground. "I never should have let you go with him, Belle. I knew it was a mistake from the start. I sent Gaston to rescue you; he never came back. Stories reached me from King Hubert's land about the great deed you did in freeing his son from Maleficent's transformation spell; I was certain that you'd escaped and would return to me. When you didn't, I-I feared the worst."

"The worst," Belle repeated with the same almost superhuman calm.

"Yes, that you'd found a way to escape on your own and that he'd tracked you down! I sent searchers scouring the kingdoms for you but they never found a trace. And then, after the curse broke, I learned that he'd bewitched you, turned you about until you didn't know your own heart. I've been trying to free you of that beast all this time, and I thought that Fate had finally stepped in and—"

"Fate?" Belle snapped. "You mean the witch who kept him enslaved for the better part of a year and just tried to murder him?"

"It would have freed _you_ ," Maurice said. "You'd have been away from him and safe from his vengeance. He wouldn't be able to hurt you anymore."

"You do know that as soon as Zelena got her hands on his dagger, the first command she gave him was an order to kill me, right?" Belle demanded. "That was the _only_ time he ever tried to hurt me." Her eyes widened. "The only time," she repeated. Then, more softly, she added, "every other time, it's happened when he was trying his best _not_ to."

"Belle!"

Belle shook her head. "No. No, Father. You didn't _let_ me go with him. I _chose_ to. _I_ chose to stay with him. And when he sent me away—yes, Father, _he_ released me; I didn't run—it was Regina who kept me imprisoned during the curse. And when it was broken, I chose to stay with him."

"And I still can't fathom why!" Moe shot back. "He's a monster!"

"He's the man I love! I've always loved him!" Belle said hotly. "But you know something?" she continued, anger yielding to pensiveness, "I think the reason it took me so long to realize it was because I didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to face the reality," she said with dawning realization, "that the man I'd fallen in love with was a man that the other people I knew would never want to accept. As much as I told myself it didn't matter… it mattered."

"What are you saying?" Moe demanded.

"I'm saying that when I started worrying about how other people saw him, _that_ became my focus. Until I no longer appreciated or trusted how _I_ saw him. I wanted him to change," she said bitterly, "not for him. Not even really for me, though I know I made him think he had to, but for all of you. So I could have a husband people wouldn't pity me for or try to rescue me from." She shook her head. "He was right. I stopped loving him for who he was and started loving the façade he created because I made him believe that _that_ was who he had to be if he wanted me to be with him." Her eyes were burning and there was a lump in her throat, even as she somehow found the steel in her spine to keep standing ramrod straight. "And I don't know what's worse: that he tried to force himself into that mold as best he could… or that the more he did, the less satisfied I became. You see, father," she said with a bitter smile, "he's not the only one who's been pretending, hiding the parts of themselves they didn't think their loved ones could accept."

She took a deep breath and spoke the words she wouldn't be able to take back, not even if she wanted to. "I've been doing it, too."

* * *

It had taken her a long time before she'd suspected it, but it was only within the last couple of days that she'd finally admitted it to herself. As dismayed as she'd been when she'd returned to herself after what she generally thought of as her Lacey aberration, it hadn't only been because she'd hated the intrusion of a foreign personality. It had been because in some ways, that personality hadn't been alien at all.

Lacey had been bold and adventurous. Neither prim nor proper, she'd been more than able to hold her own in rough company. And she hadn't had to hide her attraction to the 'wrong' sorts of men either. As cringe-worthy as some of her activities had seemed once Belle had returned to herself, sometimes, in fleeting moments, she'd thought wistfully that it had all been rather freeing.

Not that Belle ever seriously _considered_ giving in to her darker nature. Her father would have been horrified. Her friends would have made, first gentle, and then more forceful expressions of concern. Dr. Hopper would have asked as non-judgmentally as possible whether there was anything troubling her. And then, eventually, they would all have edged away. Even Ruby. Perhaps, even Rumple; if it had been her light that drew him in, might not her darkness have pushed him away, had she allowed it more purchase? After all, when he'd thought Neal dead, he'd given her that potion, needing that best part of her, that part which Lacey had lacked.

No, Lacey had been wild, irresponsible, hard-drinking, and bent on finding trouble. Belle had kept all such urges tightly controlled, hidden away, ruthlessly suppressed…

…Until the Dark Curse had set them free.

And as much as Belle had wanted to believe what everyone else had told her: that it was a cursed personality, that it wasn't her, that it had never been her, she also knew that while there had still been a speck of Belle buried deep within Lacey, there had always been more than a speck of Lacey secured deep within Belle.

As Ruby had related to her in David's speech at the town line, they were one. Light and Darkness, perhaps in equilibrium if not in balance, but they were one. It was that Darkness in her that had been drawn to Rumple, but it was the Light in her that had convinced her she needed to change him.

And the more he'd tried to change, the more her interest in him had waned. That was the terrible secret that she'd never owned up to before. Rumple had tried to show Lacey the gentle side he'd thought—they'd both thought—had brought Belle to love him. Only that was just part of it.

She'd fallen in love with all of Rumple. Man and monster. Light and Dark. But just as she'd never accepted that Lacey had always been in her, she'd never accepted that she had a yearning for the Dark and dangerous. Well. A yen for danger was something that many would find hard to understand, but not altogether impossible to accept. Wanting to be a hero, wanting to be brave, was almost the definition of wanting to face danger. Darkness, though? She hadn't thought that there was any heroic way to reconcile with that. Until she'd gotten it into her head that she needed to reform or rescue the Dark One. That if she stayed with him long enough, loved him hard enough, she could transform him into a man the others would not only accept, but respect.

It hadn't worked. And bit by bit, she'd come to recognize that he hadn't changed. That he wanted her to think he had, but that she was overlooking far too many things. She'd called it 'losing her way', when the truth was that she hadn't been able to admit she'd found it.

She hadn't been able to admit that she _didn't_ want Rumple to be different. She _didn't_ want him to give up any part of himself and certainly not the part that had drawn her to him in the first place. She wasn't exactly sure what she did want, because she wasn't exactly prepared to cheer him on when he started siphoning away other people's magic or crushing hearts. There was a difference between being attracted to Darkness and letting it reign unchecked.

Maybe she needed to work on seeing where that line was.

But for now, even if that line wasn't clear, a few other things were.

She loved Rumple in all his aspects.

She'd never been able to admit it to herself, let alone to him, and thus she'd never communicated honestly what it was she wanted.

He'd thought that she wanted him to be Light, when perhaps; she'd only wanted him to be light _er_.

 _She'd_ thought she wanted the monster gone, but the more he tried to please her by hiding that part of him away from her, the more she'd missed it.

Her heart quickened. Was that it? Not finding the monster as easily as she once had, not able to admit to herself that she still wanted it, _had she gone looking for it?_

Looking for the Darkness, looking for the monster, looking for proof he hadn't changed, and once finding it…

…Underneath the dismay, horror and fury that had overwhelmed her that night in the clock tower when she'd discovered the real dagger, there had been, if only for a moment…

She remembered now.

…A feeling of overwhelming _satisfaction._

And then, almost the instant she'd recognized that emotion, she'd started rationalizing. Started telling herself that she couldn't possibly want to see him Dark, that she was a Hero and couldn't want to be with an unreformed Villain. If she was _satisfied_ , it was because she'd suspected that he'd been deceiving her all along.

Well. He had been. But had it been out of malice? Or had it been because he'd been trying to give her exactly what she'd let him believe she'd wanted?

He'd wanted to make her happy.

He'd thought that she could see past the monster. That she wanted to.

Telling him at the town line that she could only see the monster must have wounded him more keenly than if she'd stabbed him with the dagger.

Showing him in the hotel room that she'd missed the times when he'd acted selflessly, when he'd actually been _trying_ , not just pretending to fight his monster… Trusting that, even if nobody else saw his struggle to do right, she had and would…

They'd deceived each other.

And when their illusions shattered, they'd each turned a deaf ear to explanations. They'd each forgotten they'd set the other on a pedestal they'd never asked to mount.

At that moment of realization, they'd each had the same instinct: to protect themselves from feeling that same stab of agony and betrayal ever again.

She'd exiled him.

He'd walked out on her.

She'd let him back in once she'd realized that she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion about the gauntlet and his deal with the so-called Queens of Darkness. She knew she'd been wrong. She knew she'd overreacted.

The problem was that when Rumple had walked out on her…

…He hadn't been wrong. He hadn't overreacted. The only conclusion he'd jumped to had been one Belle had been too blind to acknowledge first.

* * *

Belle had had the better part of two days to ruminate on much of this and the rest flashed through her mind now, as she stood face to face with her father, and shoulder to shoulder with a woman she'd long considered a role model for heroism. She read the confusion in Moe's eyes, but before it could shift to sorrow or condemnation, she took another breath.

"All my life," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady, "I have tried to be not 'good', but 'perfect'. I applied myself to my studies to be your perfect scholar. After mother died, I may have still loved books, but it was almost like I had a duty to keep reading because that was what she would have wanted. I agreed to marry Gaston to be your perfect bargaining chip. And though I knew that he was a brute and a bully and, in some ways, more monster than Rumple ever was, I knew that I was expected to put personal feelings aside and the good of the duchy foremost."

She smiled bitterly. "Which, I suppose, is what I did when I went off with Rumple in the first place. And then? I fell in love with him." She felt a tear trickle down one cheek and swiped at it with irritation. "I met a man I truly loved and the only way I could accept that was if I believed my mission was to try to change him."

"If only you could have," Moe murmured.

Belle shook her head. "It wouldn't have mattered. First, you'd never have believed it. Second, changing him would have changed my feelings for him. You see, father, as it turns out? I actually love Rumple _for_ his Darkness. I don't want him to be different. I just want him to be as good as he can be, not as good as you—" she looked about and realized that a small circle had formed around her, far enough away that she could pretend that they weren't listening, close enough that they had to be hearing, and hanging on every word. She didn't care. It wouldn't hurt them to hear this either. "—as all of you seem to think he'll have to be before you consider him worthy of… of help, when he needs it. Of an apology when you've wronged him. Common decency?" She shook her head. "Magic isn't the only thing predicated on belief. When you don't believe change is possible, you don't bother trying. And when enough people tell you that you can't come back from the things you've done? You start to believe that, as well." She took another breath. "I bought into it, too. I thought that if everyone else saw such evil in him, maybe there was something wrong with me if I didn't see it. And so, I joined everyone else and started looking. And the more I looked, the more I found. Until I stopped seeing the good that was also there, had been there, all along."

Her lips were trembling and told herself firmly that Lacey wouldn't start blubbering in the middle of a speech, that Lacey wouldn't be afraid or intimidated by the truths pounding through her head, demanding to be spoken, and that Lacey was a part of her and not always unwelcome. "Rumple and I aren't together right now," she said flatly. "And that's not by my choice." Her lip curled mirthlessly. "I haven't 'c-come to my senses' or-or 'seen the light'. If anything, I've seen the darkness. Not his. Mine. The part of me I could never accept until I saw it in someone else. Until now." She closed her eyes, took a breath and let it out. "If Rumple doesn't come back over that line, I'm going after him. Maybe we can rebuild what I destroyed. Maybe it's truly over. But if he leaves with no way to return, then there's no hope at all. Not even false hope." She looked at her father. "I'm not chasing after him. If he won't have me, I'll make that life I would have had to make when you tried sending me over the line after the first curse broke."

She couldn't quite suppress a smile at the surprised murmuring from the eavesdroppers. "I'm simply going to where he'll be able to find me," she continued. "If he decides that giving me a second chance is worth the risk." She shook her head. "I don't know that he will. I don't even know that he should. After all, maybe I'm just a lovesick idiot with no idea what she wants. Maybe all of you are right and I should just cut my losses and move on. Maybe I don't want to admit that I've wrecked things beyond repair and I'm trying to sound brave and noble about taking a leap of faith, and this little speech is more of me trying to act like the poor courageous heroine in one of my novels. I don't know. I'm not even sure I care. But I do know that I love my husband, I'm not giving up on him, and I only hope he hasn't completely given up on me."

She whirled about and walked toward the town line. The others parted to let her pass. She walked up to Tillman. "I… don't suppose you've any strong coffee or anything?" she asked, feeling suddenly light-headed. "I think I need some."

"If you ask me, Mrs. Gold," Tillman said, "I think you've got more than enough strength on your own right now." He reached into the cab of his truck and pulled out a thermos. "Chai tea?"

Belle smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

* * *

It really wasn't that far to the tow lines, but the ground sloped steeply and, while it had been a relief to discover that the snow wasn't so firmly packed when it had appeared as though Emma would have to dig out Regina's car, trying to walk in it was rather a different matter. The ground was uneven and rocks and roots beneath the snow had the two of them stumbling and lurching. Gold's shovel gave him a slight advantage, but he took more than a few wrong steps nevertheless. And since he and Emma were supporting one another, when one tripped, they both did.

By the time they reached the yellow ropes, Emma's calves felt as though they were on fire and, despite Gold's lack of complaint, his every breath seemed to mask a faint sob.

"We're almost there," Emma said, trying to sound reassuring and sensing that she was failing miserably.

Gold nodded and Emma thought she heard a 'Yeah,' when he exhaled, though it might just as easily have been another suppressed whimper.

And then a new voice hailed them and they turned their heads in its direction and saw a woman in EMT blues descending from the escarpment, a young man in similar attire several steps behind. "That was one heck of a tumble," the woman exclaimed. "Glad to see you both on your feet."

"After a fashion," Gold muttered, too softly for the newcomers to hear.

Emma gave a slight nod. Aloud, she said, "I don't suppose Storybrooke has a helicopter I don't know about? I can't see us making it to the top any other way."

The man nodded back, understanding. "We're just on our way down to see to the mayor. Based on what your father told us about her condition, Sheriff Swan, we've already radioed for the fire department to send a crew; if she's as badly hurt as he thinks, well, we can't carry her up the way we've come down and we can't safely pull the car up with her inside." He smiled. "I don't think we've had much occasion to speak before. I'm Lachlan MacPherson and my colleague is Jorine Lynde."

"Hi," Emma replied automatically. "I thought I heard somewhere," she continued with a frown, "that you weren't supposed to move accident victims out of the car unless it was about to explode or something."

" _You_ aren't," Jorine returned. "You're supposed to leave it to the trained rescue workers."

"Right," Emma nodded, realizing how foolish she must have sounded. They'd have to get Regina out of the car before they could help her. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Lachlan said. "It's commonsense advice for people who aren't sure what to do but think they need to do _something_. Anyway," he went on, "since the fire station is all the way in the middle of town, it's going to be about another half hour before the truck gets here. If the two of you aren't about to climb _up_ , maybe you can manage down?" He waved toward the Mercedes some ten yards away. "At least you'll be out of the cold. And once we've done what we can for Mayor Mills," he said, "if the fire truck hasn't gotten here yet, we'll check you over, too. Otherwise," he smiled, "town has fifteen firefighters. Twelve of them are certified EMTs. The other three are in the process."

Gold blinked. "One wonders why they didn't come first, then." Even as he spoke, he allowed the man to begin guiding him down the slope toward the car, Emma supporting his other side with one hand and holding fast to the tow rope with the other.

Jorine sighed. "If it's a question of at-the-scene medical attention, you've got a point. All you need is a trained paramedic. But this is a car accident; there's a good chance someone's getting carried out here on a stretcher, and those don't fit on ladder trucks all that well."

"I hear in some of the cities—Sheriff, wait!" Lachlan exclaimed, as Gold's bad ankle buckled. Gold tried to shift his weight to his left foot and bit back a curse. For the first time, Emma noticed that the left leg of his woolen pants was shredded and the skin that showed beneath was bleeding. She winced, thinking about their painful slide down the embankment and watched as the EMT gripped Gold's forearm and fought to keep him on his feet. "Okay?" he asked. It wasn't until Gold gave him a tight-lipped nod that he motioned Emma to continue the descent. "In some cities," he continued, "the fire department is in charge of both firefighters _and_ paramedics and the ambulances actually _say_ 'Fire Department' and 'Emergency Medical Services' on the side. Chicago, for one," he added. "But so far, we do things a bit differently, so… Okay, Mr. Gold, I think you'll have more leg room in the front seat. Sheriff, can you get into the rear?"

"Uh, yeah." Emma fumbled for the door, gratified that Zelena hadn't locked it behind her. As the two EMTs went around to the other side to assess Regina, she slid into the back, barely paying attention to the solid wire cage occupying half of it until loud squawks captured her attention. She winced again. "Hi, Billina."

The chicken continued to scold. 

In the seat in front of her, Gold leaned back with a sigh of relief. And then, Emma heard his breath hitch. She peered through the space between the two front seats, and realized that he'd just taken a look at the seat beside him. Emma felt a pang of guilt. She'd been moving on autopilot, listening to the EMTs, doing as she was told. She hadn't bothered to check on her closest friend. It did no good to tell herself that she'd probably have gotten in the way. She should have taken an extra second.

She flinched as a low cry escaped Regina, likely in response to something the EMTs were doing. And then, Emma watched as Gold sucked in his breath, reached out and took Regina's limp hand in his own. "Help has arrived, dearie," he murmured quickly. "You simply need to hold on a bit longer. We all do…"

She wasn't sure whether Gold was trying to reassure the mayor or himself, but she distinctly saw Regina's fingers contract slightly to return the handclasp.

"We're not alone," he went on. "And we will get out of this and home safely."

"To Storybrooke," Emma added confidently.

There was a hint of a smile in Gold's voice when he repeated her words. "To Storybrooke."

* * *

It took longer than anticipated. The fire fighters had to assess the situation and figure out the safest way to extract everyone. Meanwhile, much as Emma struggled to focus, fatigue, pain, and stress took their toll. Afterwards, she never remembered the ascent to the top; she had to go by the data in the Emergency Services reports. They could have told her she'd been airlifted by a herd of pegasuses (pegasi?) with a dragon escort and she wouldn't have been sure that they were lying. Everything from the moment that one of the fire-fighters came around to her side of the Mercedes to check her condition until the moment that she was back atop the embankment and Jorine was asking her whether she wanted a lift to the hospital was a blank, excised as cleanly as her memories of two years living in Storybrooke had been when Regina'd sent her over the town line with Henry after they'd come back from Neverland.

"Of course, she does!" her father broke in and, for once, Emma was grateful for it. Behind him, Emma flinched as she saw Regina being carried into the ambulance on a stretcher. A blanket covered the mayor from neck to toes, but there were fresh bruises on her face and Emma could tell from where she was sitting that Regina's nose was swollen to twice its normal size. _Probably broken_ , she thought with a wince, resolving to stay at the hospital even if Whale released her—at least, until she knew that her friend was going to be all right.

Jorine gave her a quick glance and, when Emma nodded, turned to David. "Uh… there's not a lot of room in the ambulance and I'm not sure the back of the fire truck is going to be a good idea. Are you able…?"

David looked at his daughter. "Mind lending me your keys?"

"Uh… yeah." She looked to her left, where Lachlan Macpherson was wrapping a bandage around Gold's ankle. His _other_ ankle, she realized with a pang. "Actually…"

"What actually?" David demanded. "Emma, you need a doctor."

"I know," she said. "But we've got a problem, here. You know Zelena's supposed to go to the secure wing, right?"

David blinked. "There's room for her in the back, isn't there?"

"With Gold?"

"Gold?" David repeated blankly. Then he nodded. "Right. He's not in much better shape than you are right now." He thought for a moment. Then he touched her shoulder briefly. "Wait here," he said. "I'll be right back."

Emma watched as he walked over to Gold and Macpherson. She couldn't hear what he said, but she did see Gold sit up a bit straighter, and she saw the precise moment that the disbelief on his face yielded to a surprised smile. After a moment, Lachlan signaled to one of the firefighters, who accompanied David back to Emma, but not before Gold slipped something into his hand. "Okay," David said. "Here's how it's going to work. You're going to let…" He glanced at the man standing beside him. "Uh…"

"Ringel," the firefighter supplied. "John Ringel."

David smiled. "You're going to let Mr. Ringel drive Zelena to the hospital in your bug. I'll be taking you and Gold in," he held up a set of keys, "Gold's Cadillac Brougham." Despite her exhaustion, Emma didn't miss the gleam of excitement in her father's eyes.

"Just… three things," she cautioned, as she handed her keys to Ringel. "First, make sure Zelena hasn't figured out a way to wriggle out of Pan's cuff."

David nodded. Emma followed his gaze to where Zelena stood alone, but proudly defiant, the edge of a black leather cuff on one wrist, peeking out from beneath an olive-green winter coat. Her other wrist, Emma noted, sported a steel handcuff, its mate fastened to a chain-link highway fence.

"I'll take care of that," Ringel nodded.

Emma smiled briefly. "Second, make sure someone's got the scroll."

David reached into his pocket and pulled it out. "Regina had it in the glove compartment. I didn't know if we'd have to go back to town for help when I left the car, so I took it with me. What's the third thing?"

She wondered whether to bother mentioning it after all. She just wanted to get underway and she was fairly sure that Gold had been joking with her earlier. Still, he did take great stock in names and their importance, and a warning cost nothing. She gave her father a weary smile. "Don't even think of calling Gold's car a Caddy."


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

 

Snow handed Tillman's phone back to him with a relieved smile and turned to the people clustered anxiously behind her. As the news had trickled out, more people had congregated at the town line and the gathering could almost be considered a crowd at this point. "They're on their way back," she said. It was dark now and Snow was wishing that she'd had illumination installed along the road during her brief stint as mayor, instead of having drivers use their headlights to see what was about. She was straining her eyes trying to recognize everyone.

"Is everyone all right?" She recognized Archie Hopper's voice and turned in its direction.

"Well, Emergency Services is taking everyone directly to the hospital to get checked out. I'm heading there, too, once I've seen everyone cross safely over the town line. Those of you standing on the road," she added, "please move to the side so the rescue vehicles and cars can get through." She debated briefly whether to share what David had told her over the phone about Regina's condition, but she remembered the near-riot her openness had sparked when she'd nonchalantly informed the participants at her first (and only) fireside chat that Elsa's ice wall had completely sealed them off from the outside world. While she'd never understood the need to keep good news a secret, she was gradually learning that bad news could generally wait. "Once more," she added, "do not block the road. The vehicles need to get—"

"They're coming!" Leroy shouted as four pairs of headlights rounded the bend.

"Let them through!" Snow warned again. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the crowd part and stand patiently on either side of the road. Homecomings were rare enough in Storybrooke that they almost inevitably turned into hug-fests. There would be time for one of those later. All the same, she waved frantically at the yellow bug, then blinked as it drove past her and she realized that neither Emma nor David was behind the wheel. She broke into a relieved smile when she glimpsed the passengers in the Cadillac. "I'll meet you at the hospital!" she shouted, even though she doubted that they'd heard her.

Leroy approached her at a rush. "Come on, sister," he said, waving toward Happy's Miata. "he'll give you a lift."

Snow nodded. "There's room for Henry and Neal, too, right?" she asked. A worried look came to her face. "Belle?"

Belle shook her head slowly. "I don't… he's been avoiding me for the last two days. I don't think I should intrude now. And since I don't expect Emma's going to be doing that research for the another few days, maybe it's better if I head for the convent." She hesitated. "But if Rumple asks for me, you'll call?"

Leroy shrugged. "Guess I can drive you there myself, sister, if that's what you want."

Snow blinked. "What _happened_ between you two?" she asked Belle _._

Belle lowered her eyes. "Let's just say I made a mess of things and then I made it worse by trying to fix it too soon. I'm hoping we can work it out, but I think it's going to take some time."

"Still," Snow said, "I mean, he's been injured. I think he'd be glad to have you there with him."

"It's complicated," Belle said, ducking her head with a sad smile. "But please let me know what's happening?"

Snow clasped her arm reassuringly as the Miata's horn honked. "Of course I will," she said. Then she moved off to take Neal from Mrs. Lucas and collect Henry.

* * *

Emma didn't protest when the Cadillac pulled up to the hospital's emergency entrance and she saw the two attendants waiting with empty wheelchairs. "Almost wish I knew how to teleport," she murmured, as her father opened the back door to help her out. "Save me having to stand up first."

"It's not a difficult spell to learn," Gold replied just as quietly. "At least, not when one is rested and focused. I have to presume that if you haven't healed yourself by now, you're neither."

"You know," Emma said ruefully, as she slowly got into the wheelchair, "if you ever get tired of running the shop, the sheriff's station could probably use a detective."

Gold snorted as the attendant took hold of the chair handles and wheeled Emma toward the entrance. Then his eyes widened slightly when he saw that David hadn't moved away from the car door. Instead, the prince was waiting patiently to assist _him_. He slid over, doing his best not to show how much pain he was feeling. The back seat was cushioned, and the car drove smoothly enough to have spared him experiencing many bumps and jolts along the way. Now that he had to move, though, the last two and a half hours were making their effect known.

"Just take it slow," David murmured. "I'm not planning on leaving for a while." He shook his head apologetically. "The drive's too narrow to bring the chair around to the other side of the car. That'd probably be easier."

Gold grunted and slid forward a bit more. David bent down and extended one shoulder slightly forward, for him to grasp. As he did, the prince remarked quietly, "I had no idea what Zelena was planning. If I had…"

Gold shook his head and, with David's assistance, staggered the few steps to the second wheelchair. "You had other things on your mind," he allowed, sinking into the chair with a sigh. His breath caught as he saw Emma's bug pull up behind the Cadillac.

"Dad," Emma said, her gaze flicking meaningfully toward the car, "is there…?"

David shook his head with a grim smile. "No," he said. "There is no reason why someone with no demonstrable injuries needs to come in the emergency entrance. I'm going to have Ringel drive around to the side door." He glanced from one attendant to the next. "Could you have security waiting there?"

The man behind Emma's chair nodded. "I'll take care of it. Tell him the north door," he added. "That's the one closest the elevator to the secure wing."

"I'm on it," David nodded. He looked at Emma. "You'll be okay?"

"Yeah. I'll see you inside."

His glance slid questioningly toward Gold.

Gold blinked. "I imagine I will be, thank you, Sheriff."

"Okay." He turned to go.

"Sheriff," Gold called after him.

David spun back to face him. "Yeah?"

Rumple's smile was small, but it was genuine. "Thank you."

David smiled back.

* * *

Belle was relieved that Grumpy didn't try to strike up a conversation on the drive back to town. She was still reliving what she'd said to her father. She hadn't planned to go off on him. The things she'd said… Things she'd never dreamed of voicing aloud and things she'd never consciously _thought_ about before had all coalesced and erupted—unrehearsed—from her lips.

By dawn, half the town would know.

By midday, so would the other half.

And Rumple? Would anyone care enough to tell him? And if they did, how would he react? If she'd been able to get him alone, tell him privately what she'd realized about her feelings and motivations, then maybe he would have been willing to give her a chance.

She'd just announced everything publicly. And while talking about her own feelings was up to her, that part where she'd called out the town over how they'd treated _him_ …

She winced. Rumple had his pride. He'd also had a lifetime of being looked down upon, seen as weak, pathetic, useless. If he learned what she'd said, would he be glad that she'd defended him, or would he be hurt, thinking that she pitied him? Belle thought about it and decided that, at least for now, it would be better if he _didn't_ find out. She'd already wounded him badly; she wasn't about to… to… risk ripping off the bandage, just to pour salt in that wound.

If only two of the people supporting her now weren't also two of the worst secret-keepers in town…

She realized that Grumpy had asked her something and she blinked and came back to her surroundings. "Sorry?"

"We're at the convent, sister." He hesitated. "This is still where you want to be, right? I mean, I'll be passing by your place on my way home and if you changed your mind about the hospital…"

"No," Belle shook her head with a sad smile. "Thank you, Grumpy, but I need to be here right now." She opened the door and got out. As her stiletto heels hit the pavement she half-turned to look over her shoulder.

"Grumpy? If you talk to Emma, would you please tell her where I am? I think she'll want to know."

Grumpy's eyes narrowed. Belle gave a mental sigh. She'd already given the town plenty to talk about. And they likely already knew more than enough about Rumple's condition. The rest wasn't anyone else's business and she braced herself for an argument if the dwarf didn't see things the same way.

But all Grumpy said was, "Sure, sister. I'll tell her."

* * *

Rumple wasn't used to this. Not any of it. Whether in his peasant days, or as the Dark One, in the Enchanted Forest, or in Storybrooke, it had been rare that anyone would extend him help or consideration without asking or expecting anything in return. And when such gifts were forthcoming, there was nearly always some accompanying jibe, some reminder that he didn't deserve such generosity, some attempt to make him feel lesser—all the while knowing that he was powerless to protest or retaliate if he was to get what he needed.

He'd half-expected Whale to turn away from him and ask him to heal his own damage. And Rumple would have. If he weren't in pain and exhausted. If he wasn't afraid that any use of magic right now might cost him another letter on the dagger. He'd even wondered whether activating an old dormant spell to retrieve the cash in his shop had been pushing things, but he'd had no intention of going into the outside world penniless if it was to be another one-way trip. (He'd found Snow's choker earlier that morning, in the safe where he was wont to put away the truly valuable pieces of jewelry before closing up. He'd wanted to double-check the inventory. Scarlet had made off with much—which Emma had promised would be returned to him shortly, but the thief had been in a hurry and had missed the hidden compartments.)

But Rumple had to admit that there was something marvelous about being rushed indoors, about the triage nurse asking him questions about his condition and paying close attention to his answers, about being offered a hot drink and told to relax…

It was almost as though they didn't know who he was.

It wasn't until they wheeled him into a room, transferred him to a bed, and left him alone that fear began to set in.

In the past, Rumple had avoided Storybrooke's hospital as much as possible. During the curse, he'd never needed it. Afterwards, he'd had his healing talent. But he'd also had his memories, and they were far from pleasant…

* * *

_Rumple is eleven when the pestilence comes to Thornbrook. He awakens in the middle of the night to the sound of low groans of pain and a worried voice murmuring reassurances. During the minutes that follow, those sounds are joined by those of feet padding over creaky floor boards, drawers sliding open and slamming shut, the clinking of coins hastily being gathered together, and the other bedroom door squeaking a bit as it always does when opened._

_A moment later, there comes a knock on his own. Fully awake by now, Rumple opens it. Aunt Holle—not truly his aunt, of course, but he's been calling her so for the last three years anyway—stands there, a winter shawl flung over her flannel checkered nightgown, and a lighted taper in her hand. Her face is ghostly pale. "It's Aunt Hulda," she whispers. "Took fever in the night. There was talk in the market today of a sickness striking all the villages along the riverside. Here," she presses several copper coins into his hand. "Go for the healer. Hurry, child!"_

_Rumple's mouth is dry. "What do I—?"_

_"Just tell him to hurry. And Rumple… if he says to take her to the hospital, tell him we can pay more!"_

_Rumple blinks. "Can we?"_

_"We'll worry about that when she's well. Quickly, now, boy!"_

* * *

_The healer's face is even more haggard than Aunt Holle's when Rumple stammers out why he's come. But he isn't one to offer empty assurances. "I've been to a dozen or more households since noon," he says wearily. "All the same. It starts with cramps and fevers. Then, if it follows the same pattern as upriver, a thirst that won't be quenched. The eyes become sensitive; the slightest light will cause pain. Finally, the extremities sprout boils. The young, the strong, those who have been healthy heretofore may recover; some fully, some lose their eyesight—or part of it; others will suffer crippling pains in their hands and feet for the rest of their lives."_

_Rumple thinks of Aunt Hulda, well past sixty now, who can no longer carry a tray of three meat pies from oven to table without her arms trembling, but must lift each pan one at a time, whose arthritis has all but put an end to her days at the spinning wheel, and he slumps against the healer's door-frame._

_The healer sighs. "Mother Hulda," he says, giving the spinner the respectful title by which all women past middle age of any repute are addressed in these parts, "would receive better care at the hospital."_

_Rumple shakes his head. "No!" he pleads. "Mother Holle said you must come! She can't take her there! She—!"_

_The healer motions him to silence and shakes his head. Then, gentle fingers brush Rumple's forehead. "_ You've _no fever, at least," he says. Then he beckons to Rumple to follow him inside. As Rumple watches, the healer plunges a wooden ladle into a pot on the stove and pours its contents into a clay mug. "It'll warm you," he says. "Wait." He takes a pouch from his pocket, crumbles a pinch of something, and adds it to the liquid. "I don't know if this will help you withstand the pestilence," he admits, "but it will do no harm and it may help."_

_Rumple thanks him and takes a hesitant sip, his eyes widening as he imbibes the fruity flavors of perry, mulled with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and something else he's not sure he's ever tasted before. "It's good!" he manages. Somehow, he'd naturally assumed that everything the healer made would taste as foul as the tonic he'd taken last summer when he'd come down with the ague that often plagued the town when the mosquitoes were in force._

_"Listen to me, boy," the healer says, and while his tone is harsh, his eyes are kind. "I can do nothing for her, nor for any already showing symptoms. Tell that to Mother Holle. Tell her that for the good of the town, Hulda_ must _go to the hospital. The pestilence will travel from room to room and house to house, do you understand?"_

_Rumple gulps and nods._

_"The drink I gave you," the healer adds, "will keep you safe for a little while, but it's no cure. It strengthens your resistance. Buys you time only. You'll need more in three days." He takes a leather water skin down from the wall. He dips the ladle back into the pot once more. "A dose for Mother Holle. That's what your coppers will buy you and all I could do for you both in any case." He shakes his head. "As for Mother Hulda, she will recover or she will not; it is in the hands of fate. The best chance you have is to bring her to the hospital and, within the next three days make your way to a place where the pestilence will not strike. Inland," he adds. "Avoid the river."_

_Rumple knows a warning when he hears one and he runs home as fast as he can, the healer's words ringing in his ears. Aunt Holle is waiting anxiously, and her trepidation grows when she sees that he has returned alone, no healer trailing behind. When, panting, he stammers out his message, he sees terror in her eyes, but all she says to Rumple is, "You'd best help me move her, then."_

_Rumple holds out the skin to her and she shakes her head with an indulgent smile. "Time enough for that later. Quickly, now. Help me."_

_Rumple obeys, bundling Aunt Hulda in layers of shawls, while Aunt Holle wraps her feet in rags and stuffs them into her overshoes. He can't fathom why Aunt Holle won't take the draught, until his hand inadvertently brushes hers and he realizes that it's burning hot._

_She nods sadly. "You'll need to leave us both there," she says. "Drink that yourself in three days' time. Or sell it; there'll be no more spinning money now."_

_"I can spin," Rumple protests. "You know I can."_

_Aunt Holle shakes her head. "Who'll buy such work at a time like this, child? If there's any money to be spent, it'll be on either food or medicine."_

* * *

_The hospital is at the very edge of the outskirts of town, its back wall practically flush with the river. If the banks overflow, there's a good chance that the building would tumble in to be carried downstream, even with the stone shoring. Rumple leaves the old women at the gate and hurries back to the hut. The streets are eerily silent, except when an anguished scream splits the night. Long before he reaches it, the smell of smoke and burning thatch reaches him. At first, he thinks that it must be some other house. Then he fears that in their haste, they may have inadvertently let a candle overturn on their way out. But the bailiff is tacking an illness warning to the front gate and one of his henchmen seizes Rumple when the boy tries to dash past. "You can't go in there!" the bailiff snaps, delivering a vicious clout to Rumple's ear. Rumple chokes off a cry. The bailiff shakes his head. And suddenly, he doesn't appear harsh or angry, just tired. And behind the weariness, Rumple realizes that the man is frightened. Perhaps, even as frightened as Rumple himself._

_"We had to," the bailiff says, before Rumple can utter another sound. "The pestilence. It gets into the walls and the patients' possessions. We burn them to burn the sickness. Understand?"_

_Rumple nods. "Where…?" he asks timidly. "Wh-where shall I go then?" He hopes that the bailiff won't tell him that they mean to burn_ people _, too. Is that why there's nobody about? He doesn't want to believe such a thing could be so, but he's young, poor, and powerless. Who'll protest if they attempt it?_

_The bailiff regards him for a moment and it's impossible for Rumple to know whether the man is moved to mercy or simply doesn't care, when he gestures to the henchman to release him. "Where you like, boy," he says. "But away from here."_

_Rumple nods. Then he remembers to be respectful and bows, backing away three steps as he's been taught he must when dealing with the local gentry._

_"Boy," the bailiff says sharply. When Rumple looks up with apprehension, the older man tosses him a silver coin. "As far as you can go. And if you love life, avoid the hospital."_

* * *

_Rumple doesn't obey the bailiff's order. For one thing, he's never left this town that he can recall. He hasn't lived here all his life, but he was only a baby when Malcolm brought him here after his mother left them and he can't recall ever being anyplace else. Except for Neverland, and he tries not to think of that overmuch._

_To leave behind the only home he knows and find somewhere else, and to do so completely alone… no, he can't bring himself to do so._

_And he wants to know how Aunt Hulda and Aunt Holle are faring._

_So, even though he_ does _love life, after four days, he goes to the hospital._

_From nearly a quarter mile away, he can smell it. Smoke and dung, spoiled food and soiled linens. And something else, even more unpleasant that Rumple can't put a name to. But if he were pressed, he supposes he would call it the smell of death._

_There was no guard at the gate the night that he last came, but there's one now, wearing a beak-like mask beneath a hooded cloak. "If you aren't ill, then away with you!" he cries out at Rumple's approach._

_Rumple stammers out his reason for coming, but the guard's voice doesn't soften any. "You can't enter here, boy. Now be off."_

_"Please," Rumple begs. "Please, I just want to see them. I want to know that they're all right." He thinks of something, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the silver coin the bailiff gave him. The guard snatches it from him and shrugs._

_"I suppose it's your funeral, then," he says with a sneer in his voice. "Follow me."_

_The guard leads him up the worn stone path to the hospital and knocks four times. When the door opens, he pushes Rumple forward and snaps to the woman who stands before them, "Boy came to check on his aunts. Their names are..." He glances at Rumple. "Well, boy? Speak up!"_

_Rumple's mouth is dry as the charnel smell from the interior blasts him. But he manages to croak out Aunt Holle and Aunt Hulda's names. He looks about and realizes that he's in a windowless office. There's not much in it save a desk, a chair, and a hanging cord. Directly opposite him is a second door, presumably leading into the hospital._

_The wimpled woman in the sober brown dress and starched apron motions to him to enter. She too is wearing a beaked mask. The guard leaves quickly, slamming the door behind him, even before the woman can write the names Rumple gave her on a piece of vellum. She reaches up for the cord and jerks it. A bell rings. A moment later, there is a knock on the inner door. She hastens to it, slides back a panel Rumple hadn't noticed, and passes the vellum through to a waiting gloved hand._

_"Will I be able to see them, please?" Rumple murmurs._

_The woman regards him for a moment. "Perhaps," she says finally. She studies him a moment longer. "When did you eat last?"_

_He robbed a henhouse and milked a cow that wasn't his this morning, after knocking on a farmhouse door and finding it abandoned. He can't know whether its inhabitants have fled the pestilence or come here for care, though the fact that the house is still standing would seem to imply the former. Then again, if the pestilence has already spread, it will do no good to burn any more houses. "I had breakfast," he says truthfully._

_The woman nods. "You need to eat," she says, as if Rumple doesn't already know that. "Keep your strength, keep your health."_

_A moment later, there is a light tap on the inner door. And when the woman pulls back the panel, and takes the vellum, Rumple can see two round stamps of black wax on the missive. She closes the panel once more and sighs._

_"I'm sorry, boy."_

_"They're too sick for visitors?" Rumple asks, not wanting to understand what she's trying to tell him gently._

_"They're past sickness," she says not unkindly. "Past suffering and pain and grinding poverty."_

_Rumple's eyes fill with tears and he chokes out a wretched, "No!" as he realizes that he's alone now, in a way he's never been. In that moment, he wishes his father had never left him with them, never let him learn what it felt like to be truly loved and cared for. Maybe then he wouldn't hurt nearly as much._

_The woman shakes her head. "You'd best be on your way."_

_"When… when will the funeral be?"_

_The woman starts to say something, then checks herself and shakes her head. "We didn't know how to reach you, lad. It was held yesterday."_

_Rumple knows she isn't telling him everything, but he hasn't the will to argue. She gives him a pass to show the guard at the gate, confirming that he isn't ill and the guard takes it before letting him leave. Rumple starts to walk back to the town, but then he stops and realizes there's nothing there for him now. He takes the road in the opposite direction._

_The charnel smell and smoke are stronger out here, worse even than on the way to the hospital. Rumple has walked nearly a mile before he finds out why. A rickety wagon passes him and he shudders to see skeletal limbs dangling limply over the sides. A bit past him, the wagon turns off the road and Rumple sees that the earth has been completely dug up. As he watches, the wagon discharges a load of corpses. Masked workers quickly fill it in. Others are unloading an earlier cart, tossing clothing, bed-linens, plaited-reed dishes, and other objects Rumple can't readily identify into an open fire pit._

_There was no funeral for Aunt Holle or Aunt Hulda. There was only… this._

_They came to the hospital ill but alive._

_They left it dead._

_Rumple shudders and forces himself to walk on. He doesn't know where he's going, but he does know that he won't be back here again anytime soon. If ever._

_He pulls his cloak—spun for him by Aunt Hulda last winter and still thick and warm—around him more tightly, and continues down the road._

* * *

Intellectually, Rumple knew that in this realm, hospitals were true places of healing, not warehouses to quarantine the sick and dying where they would—presumably—not infect the rest of the town. Emotionally, he was unable to completely disassociate himself from his past experiences. The only happy memories he had of his childhood were because of Aunt Hulda and Aunt Holle. They had come to a place where the sick were meant to be healed, and they had died there.

Perhaps, it might have helped, had he any positive acquaintance with such places, but during the curse, he'd never been ill. (Hardly surprising; if every day was like every other, and he'd been well on the day that Storybrooke had come into existence, he'd enjoyed similar good health for the twenty-eight years that followed.) After the curse, the first time he'd ventured within these walls had been the night that Belle had been shot. He'd done what he could to heal her, of course, and physically, he'd succeeded. But the terror on her face when she'd seen him use magic, the complete lack of recognition in her eyes… And the others demanding that he heal the injured motorist who'd come crashing over the town line and into the pirate.

On any other night, perhaps he would have—a fair payment for services rendered. But he hadn't been in the proper frame of mind to make such an accounting. And, as it turned out, perhaps in Mendell's case, Storybrooke might have been better served had Whale been less competent that night. But Rumple's ability to see the future had been mute on that particular subject and even if it hadn't been, nobody would have listened to him had he told them what was in store.

He'd forced himself to return several times, to try to help Belle regain her memories. Those visits… had not gone well. And the next time he'd walked these halls, it had been as Zelena's slave, powerless to do anything but watch, as the witch easily took down, first Belle and then Regina. She hadn't needed him along, and he still wasn't sure whether she'd brought him in case she'd underestimated her adversaries, or whether she'd simply wanted him to see for himself how powerful she'd become in the years since she'd been his student. In his mind's eye, he still saw Belle crumple to the ground, still heard Zelena order him to leave her, still remembered how intensely—and how futilely—he'd fought that command.

And then, in New York, after his heart attack, when Zelena had revealed herself and tried to force him into that deal…

Every time he'd been in one of these buildings, he'd been powerless to help those he cared about. He'd been powerless to help himself. Too weak, too useless, too frightened…

And to be here again now, while Zelena was but two floors below…

He flashed back to the nightmare he'd had in the hotel room over a week earlier. Suppose he _were_ to awaken, only to find her standing over him with his dagger? The dagger. Where was—?

He got out of bed and walked to the closet where he'd seen the nurse hang his coat and gingerly reached into the inner pocket. He exhaled in relief. Nobody had taken it from him. He pulled the dagger free and went back to the bed. It would be safe under his pillow for now. And if it proved uncomfortable, he imagined that a nurse could bring him a second pillow, should he request one.

He needed to cast a protection spell; his magic might be killing him slowly, but if the witch were to escape her confinement, she just might be inclined to take on that job for herself—and with a good deal more alacrity. He closed his eyes and focused, sinking deep into his magic, as he'd sank into the lake by the village in happier days, feeling the water surround him, letting a sensation of calmness pervade... And then, abruptly, as though a wave had slapped him in the face, his concentration shattered, his eyes flew open with shock, and he gasped for air.

And a mocking voice in his head said, _Come now, dearie. Did you really think you could choose the tune without paying the piper? I mean, how's that line go? The one you always remind your customers? Ah, yes. 'All magic… comes with a price'. And you've been trying to renege on ours._ The imp tutted at him. _Not wise, dearie. Not wise. You seem to forget who's in command, here. You have your magic, and your life, only for so long as you benefit me. If you're going to be difficult, well, I suppose I'll have no choice but to seek out a new host. And I have to admit,_ the imp chortled, _that witch would be a worthy successor. And so eager…_

The imp's voice faded away, leaving Rumple in a cold sweat. It wasn't real. He had to keep remembering. None of this was real. The imp, the Darkness, call it what he liked… it wanted him to focus on how weak and vulnerable he was without his magic. It was giving him a taste of life without it, showing him what he'd be giving up. Trying to make him use it, despite what was at stake. Trying to convince him that a little bit wouldn't hurt.

And he was tempted. Oh, he was tempted. If he used his magic, it would hasten his end. But if he didn't use it, he'd be easy prey for anyone seeking his harm or his power. In other words, not using his magic might actually kill him more quickly. He pulled the dagger out from under his pillow. If no new letter was appearing, at least no intact letter was fading, either. But he wasn't safe here. Not alone, not defenseless, not with his Darker nature whispering at him again, encouraging him to go back into the old familiar patterns. Maybe… His phone was on the night table. Hesitantly, he found Booth's number in his directory. He decided against calling. Perhaps it was foolish. Booth had seen him when he was at his absolute lowest point on the steps of the New York Public Library. There was no reason for Rumple to feel embarrassed about admitting that he needed a bit of added support right now. But stating it outright was something he simply wasn't prepared to do. Instead, he opted for a quick text stating that he'd been admitted to the hospital and that as a result, he regretted that Booth would need to wait for his release before implementing any further repairs. Perhaps, Booth would read between the lines. If not, then it was just as well that Rumple had opted not to ask the puppet for assistance outright.

Meanwhile, Rumple reflected, it was probably still better for him not to be alone in this room, with his thoughts and his demon. Perhaps, Emma was up for some company.

He cast about looking for his cane, before he remembered that he'd lost it in his tumble. His gaze fell on an empty IV pole on caster wheels. That would do admirably. He debated whether to get his own clothes back on, but his misadventure had left his trousers torn and filthy and between the long months he'd spent as Zelena's captive and the six weeks he'd lived on the streets of Manhattan, he had no intention of voluntarily donning soiled clothing. He'd spied a bathrobe in the closet next to his coat. He went to get it now. Once it was on and tied securely over the hospital gown, he made his way to the door, turned the handle, eased it open, and peered cautiously into the corridor beyond.

* * *

David Nolan looked up when the door across from where he was sitting began to open. He drew his sword on reflex. Then, the door opened fully and Rumpelstiltskin took one startled look at the blade pointed toward him and stepped back. David gave him an apologetic smile and rested the sword's point on the ground, keeping his hand on the hilt. "How are you feeling?"

He was feeling relieved that he didn't have three feet of steel pointed in his direction anymore, foolish that he'd thought the prince had meant to attack him, and embarrassed that his apprehension must have been obvious. It was only natural that he resort to a show of anger to hide his vulnerability. "So, I'm a prisoner, then?" he snapped. "Or was there some other reason for this warm reception?"

David shook his head, holding up his free hand in a placating gesture. "I don't know if you noticed, but of the four people most capable of casting a protection spell in this town, three aren't in any shape to cast one and the fourth is the reason they probably should. I'm just standing guard until someone's recovered enough to take stronger measures."

Rumple felt his tension ease. "Well," he said in a more subdued tone. "Then I suppose some thanks are in order. Although one wonders just how much good you think you can do with an oversized letter opener, should Zelena manage to remove that leather bracelet."

For answer, David gestured to the wall behind him with his free hand. Or, more specifically, to the fire alarm several inches above his head. "The 'oversized letter opener' is more so I can delude myself that there's actually something I can do beyond alert everyone else of the danger," he replied with the barest trace of a smile. "But," he said seriously, "you're right. Some thanks _are_ in order. I… saw how you helped Emma down there."

"And you missed how she saved my life first?" He shook his head. "I could do no less."

"I also noticed you talking to her in the parking lot when we met up on the road. Well. Regina did. I don't know what you said to her, but I do know that whatever it was seemed to have started mending the rift that our actions… that Emma finding out about our actions… caused."

Gold closed his eyes. At least, he now understood why the prince was being so solicitous. He knew it wouldn't last, of course, but he still wanted to enjoy the state of affairs while it did. "Do you imagine," he returned, "that you're the only parent who let his child down through an act that seemed necessary at the time, all the while knowing that there must have been a better path? It took Bae centuries to forgive me. Your family doesn't have that long."

"All the same," David said quietly, "thanks."

Gold said nothing. But a moment later, he sat down on the bench beside the prince. "How _is_ Emma?" he asked.

David exhaled. "She'll be okay. Shoulder sprain's the worst of the damage. Whale's still running some tests, but he doesn't think it's going to require surgery. She's just… pretty doped up on painkillers right now. Snow and Killian are in with her," he jerked his head in the direction of the door to his left. "I'll take a turn in another hour or so, while one of them relieves me out here."

The wrong time for him to call on her then. Politeness made him ask, "And… Regina?"

David slumped a bit. "The airbag may have saved her life, but it did a lot of damage. I guess she might be able to heal herself?" he suggested hopefully.

Rumple considered. "With the proper focus and concentration, yes. Unfortunately, pain can impede focus and concentration. As can the medications to counter such pain. What sort of damage?"

David didn't reply for a moment. When he did, his voice was apologetic. "I don't actually know," he admitted. "Apart from the broken ribs, her face was pretty bruised, but beyond that…" He shook his head. "Henry's in with her now."

Rumple started to nod. Then he fixed worried eyes on the prince's. "That can't be easy for him."

"It's not," David agreed. "But he refuses to leave her alone and… Killian feels awkward about being there if she wakes up, Snow feels one of us should be with Emma at all times, and I'm out here."

If he'd thought for one moment that the prince was trying to guilt him into anything, Rumple would have either called him on it or retreated back to his room. But he could read no guile or manipulation in David's voice. Only worry, concern, and a helplessness Rumple knew all too well. And, unlike the prince, Rumple was _used to it_. He reached for the IV pole once more. "Which room?" he asked.

"Sorry?"

"Well, much as I've enjoyed this little chat, I believe it's probably run its course. I can relieve my grandson for a short while. And if there's one thing that can help the mayor focus," he added with a faint smile, "it would likely be an opportunity for her to have a go at _me_. Now, which room?"

"206," David said, his eyebrows shooting up as he jerked his head to his right. "I'll tell Whale where you are if he comes looking."

Rumple nodded. "I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

* * *

Belle scowled at the tome before her, as though she could intimidate it into revealing its secrets. For a moment, she'd thought she'd found something relevant regarding the Sorcerer's Hat, but from what she could piece together, it read as though the hat was meant to strip away magic without absorbing the spell caster. She wondered whether there was a second hat out there somewhere, or whether Merlin simply hadn't been able to exactly realize his intentions.

There was one other piece of information, interesting, though Belle wasn't sure how relevant it was. For all the discussion earlier about needing a Dark savior for the Author's ink, it sounded as though the hat was intended for a _Lightened_ one. It was the 'lightened' that gave Belle pause. She would have understood 'Light' quite well. If the text had used that term, she would have brought the hat to Emma to try to unravel. But 'lightened'—and in Fairy the word used _only_ pertained to matters of Light and Dark, not—as in English—to matters of weight as well… Belle wasn't entirely certain what Merlin meant here.

She pushed the book away with a heavy sigh.

Tink looked up. "Another dead end?" she asked sympathetically.

Belle's shoulders slumped a bit and she rubbed her eyes. "I don't even know anymore," she admitted. "I've been at this for hours and it's all starting to blur."

"Then you should go," Tink said. "Really, these books will still be here tomorrow. Go to him."

Belle shook her head. "I want to," she said. "Only…"

"You don't know that he's still… well, cross with you," the fairy reminded her gently.

"He wasn't in the first place," Belle replied. "It's just… for as long as I've known Rumple, I've been trying to help him find his way, without once questioning whether, perhaps, there was a different way. Or a slower pace."

"Belle?"

Belle looked down at the table and absently traced her finger along the circular burls on its surface. "All this time, I've been telling him—gently, of course," her face flushed, "well… mostly. I've spent too much time trying to tell him what he ought to want and ignored what he _did_ want."

"Well," Tink said dubiously, "I mean, he's the Dark One. Some of his desires were… um… well… _dark_."

Belle shook her head. "I don't mean those. I'm talking about all the little things I tried to change, not because they were necessarily _wrong_ , or-or dark, but because I was so sure my way was better and he'd be happier for it later. And even if it was," she sighed, "I think I could have pushed him a bit too fast, a bit too far. I don't think I ever _asked_ him to do the right thing," she said slowly. "I told…" She stopped. "No. I _ordered_ him to do it." Well. There had been that one time she'd—no. Even when it came to that ill-fated excursion to the Snow Queen's lair, she'd first _told_ him that she was hoping he'd come with her, and then _commanded_ him when she'd refused. She hadn't asked. "It was all about what _I_ wanted," she continued. "All about what _I_ thought was best. And," Belle sighed, "when it was also what was best for _him_ , maybe I was onto something. But somewhere along the line, it got all confused with worrying about what everyone else thought and what would be the best way to win them over." She shook her head. "I got so… angry over his lies, while all the while I kept pushing him into telling bigger lies, worse lies, because I didn't want to face the truth."

She took a deep breath. "The truth is, I made a mess of things. He doesn't want to see me. And right now, I have a choice to make. Between doing what I'd usually do and deciding that I know best and he has to listen to me and we need to talk so I can apologize and we can try to pick up the pieces, and _yes,_ " Belle snapped. "Maybe, generally speaking, that would be wise advice. But given that what brought us to this point was, in part, my not respecting his wishes… I'm going with the second choice for now: listening to what he's telling me, giving him his space, and hoping that if I don't push him now, maybe he'll decide to give me—to give _us—_ another chance later."

She sighed and reached for another book. "But if you're going to be at the hospital tomorrow," she added, remembering that the fairies generally assisted the regular nurses in their duties there, "perhaps you could let me know how he is?"

Tink smiled and placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "Of course."

* * *

It was hard to tell whether Regina's current appearance was an improvement over the way she'd looked when Rumple had gotten into the car beside her. He thought that some of the swelling had gone down, but her face was pale and the sickly purple and yellow bruises stood out all the more sharply in contrast. Her eyes were closed and Rumple heard the all-too-familiar sounds of various monitors recording heart rate, blood pressure, and who knew what else.

Beside her, Henry sat, his hand clasped in hers. "Come on, Mom," Rumple heard him whisper, "you're going to be okay. I know it. Just…" He looked up when he heard the wheels on Rumple's IV pole draw closer.

"Doctor Whale says it's just the drugs keeping her asleep," he greeted him. "It's not like she's in a coma or anything."

Rumple nodded. "Still not an easy thing to watch a loved one suffer," he said, placing a hesitant hand on his grandson's shoulder.

"I'm not leaving, if that's what you're hinting," Henry warned him.

"No," Rumple said, thinking about those four horrible days when he hadn't known how his aunts were faring. Even learning that they had perished had been better than the worrying and waiting. But there had still been the guilt, the wondering whether he might have done something had he been there. Perhaps, he could have alerted a healer the moment his aunts took a turn for the worse. Perhaps, his mere presence would have given them reason to fight a bit harder. Perhaps, he might have, at least, had the chance to say goodbye. "She's your mother. How could you not be here?"

There was no other chair in the room, but as Rumple drew nearer, Henry got up from his. "I overheard Dr. Whale saying they don't know if she's going to…" His voice broke. "I know he's doing everything he can, but the time it took before they started treating her… Regina stirred in her sleep and an expression of pain crossed her face for a moment. Then it passed and she settled back down. "Is there anything you can do?" Henry asked. "I don't mean with _your_ magic," he added. "But maybe something in the shop?"

Rumple shook his head. "Something to mask pain, perhaps. However, the medicines in her system are already accomplishing that."

"It's okay," Henry said. "I just had to ask."

Gold nodded. "I think I'd think less of you if you hadn't." He _could_ heal her, of course. It was a simple enough thing to do. But what would the cost be to his soul if he used magic now? Another thought struck him. _What would the cost be to his soul if medicine couldn't accomplish what magic could? Standing by and doing nothing when… No. Whale could probably do what needed doing, albeit a bit more slowly. Regina would recover without him._

In his mind, the imp cackled, relishing Rumple's dilemma. But which choice did it want him to make? True, using his magic would come at a price. His heart would grow darker. The 't', so recently won back, would begin to fade—if it didn't vanish entirely. And, if he did use magic, whatever his reason, it would weaken his resolve to refrain from resorting to it in future. The next time he had reason to use it, he would give in that much more quickly.

But wouldn't turning away from Regina be an even Darker act?

Or did the imp just want him to think that way?

Or, Rumple's lips went suddenly dry, did it actually matter?

He realized that Henry was looking at him and met his eyes nervously. Henry shook his head. "I can't," he whispered. "I want to ask you to heal her. Even if it means we make a deal, anything. But… I know what that could do to your dagger. And…"

Gold shook his head. "And it's not something of which your mother would approve. Either of them," he added. "And, since you are a minor, any contract you would enter into with me would be null and void."

Henry nodded. "I just wish…"

Gold closed his eyes. And then, scarcely realizing—or believing—what he was doing, his hand reached toward the bed.

"Grandpa…?" Henry whispered.

Rumple ignored him. His focus was on Regina, as he probed with his magic, seeking the damaged bones and organs, finding the trouble, determining what was necessary to correct it, and then doing so. His power flowed through him, smooth as the great wheel he'd sanded himself as a younger man. He heard his grandson's breath catch, as though from some great distance, but Rumple kept to his task until he knew that the task was complete.

Then, he sank back in his chair, his limbs suddenly heavy, his head peculiarly light. But he was still… himself. And Regina… Regina…

Cautiously, he cracked open his eyes and saw that the bruises on her face were fading, and that she seemed to be resting more easily. He didn't know how to interpret the monitors, but he suspected that their readings were normalizing as well.

"Wow…" Henry breathed. "Do you know—?"

Gold cut him off wearily. "I'd prefer to waive any conversation until some later time," he said. "We both know what was done here. There's no reason for discussion. And… it would appear I require more rest than I'd thought."

Henry nodded. "Want me to walk you back?"

"Your mother…"

"I think, if she's going to be okay now, I can leave for a minute or two. And… thanks. Really."

Gold smiled. "Very well," he replied.

"But Grandpa…"

Gold held up a warning hand. "Later, Henry. Please."

Henry nodded. "Okay. I guess it can wait." But he still felt that his grandfather ought to know that somewhere in the last few seconds of his healing, the orange smoke emanating from his fingers had smoothed and solidified, until it had resembled the pale gleaming straw that he so often spun. It hadn't just been a color-shift. Henry hadn't seen anything like it before.

But he remembered something that Emma had told him had happened during the battle with Zelena…

…About the moment when the purple smoke coming out from Regina's hands had changed to white light.

And he couldn't help but wonder whether this was anything similar.

But maybe, Henry thought, he shouldn't be so insistent about telling his grandfather now. It didn't matter what he'd seen. Just like with the dagger, until someone else saw it too, nobody was going to believe him anyway.

Sometimes… Sometimes, Henry really hated being a kid.


	40. Chapter Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A quick look at Wikipedia tells me that there were several forerunners of Johnson's A Dictionary of the English Language. They include Sir Thomas Elyot's Wordbook (a Latin-English translation dictionary), Richard Mulcaster's Elementarie (a guide to spelling), Robert Cawdrey's A Table Alphabeticall (a limited dictionary of 'difficult' words), and Thomas Blount's Glossographia (at its time, the most comprehensive English dictionary, with 10,000 words).

**Chapter Forty**

August was talking to David when Rumple and Henry stepped out of Regina's room. As the two drew near, August broke off the conversation and strode up to them, an angry expression on his face. "You know, sometimes, I really can't believe you!" he snapped.

Both of Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "Only sometimes?" he murmured.

August's glower deepened. "Hey, August, I'm in the hospital, don't bother coming 'round for repairs tonight," he said in a high-pitched sing-song. "Oh, and as I'm fueling up my 'cycle for the drive over, I start hearing people talking about an accident outside town and how you and Emma—and believe me, as soon as she's up for visitors I'm going to have plenty to say to her, too—just high-tailed it back over the town line, without even taking the time to ask if maybe I'd want to go, too?"

"There was no time," Rumple said calmly. "And I daresay your father needed you. Had the scroll been lost…"

August shook his head. "I'll buy that as a reason for not inviting me along," he said, with a bit less heat. "But you still should've called me. I thought I at least rated that much." He hesitated for one moment. Then he clapped both hands to Rumple's shoulders and shook him gently. "Damn it, if you're going to send me texts like that one again, at least give me a few details about your condition. I didn't know if you'd had another heart attack, or if you were in a body cast, or—"

"I doubt I'd have been able to type if I were," Rumple reminded him, but there was a catch in his voice that surprised them both.

"You'd be surprised at the apps on the market these days," August muttered. "Seriously, you can't just go springing this kind of stuff on people. You're not the only person around here that can get scared, okay?"

Rumple pressed his lips together tightly and nodded. "Yeah," he murmured. "Okay."

August released him, a look of consternation in his eyes. "Here I'm shaking you when you look about ready to keel over," he muttered.

"He just healed my mom," Henry spoke up.

"What?" David started.

Rumple sighed. "I'd prefer to discuss the matter later. All magic _does_ come with a price and I must confess to feeling somewhat… drained at the moment."

"Do you need a doctor?" David asked.

Rumple shook his head, still only half-believing the concern in the prince's voice. "He'll only order me to rest. Which, in any event, is what I plan on doing," he added, leaning more heavily on the IV pole.

"Here," August said, coming around to Rumple's other side and taking his free arm. "Let me help you get settled."

Rumple sighed. "If you must," he acquiesced, not sounding particularly put out.

"Yeah," August shot back. "I think I must. Sheesh."

* * *

"Sorry if I blasted you out there," August said, as he carefully hung the bathrobe back in the closet and extended his elbow for Rumple to take for the walk back to the bed. "You might not have meant to, but you… uh… kinda hit a nerve." He gave Rumple an apologetic smile. "Let's just say I got my fill of jumping through hoops back when I was Stromboli's star attraction. If you want company, next time, try the direct approach."

Rumple lowered his eyes. "In my experience," he admitted, "that method has rarely proven effective."

"Your experience with me?" August asked, and Rumple recognized that the puppet wasn't being rhetorical. "With Emma?"

Rumple thought about that for a moment. "No," he admitted. "Not recently."

"So, let's call this a second chance," August said firmly. "I get it. Maybe not as much as you do, but I think I know something about being let down and betrayed by people I thought I could trust, finding out friends were just trying to use me, paying a steeper price for choices that honestly didn't seem so terrible at the time…" He broke off when he saw a hint of mockery in Rumple's eyes. "Too much?" he asked.

"Too generous," Rumple countered. "Your poor choices were made through youth or inexperience, not darkness or fear."

"Not sure if that's a better excuse," August said, hooking a low stool with one foot and bringing it close to the bed. "There's probably a way to lower it," he murmured, gesturing toward the mattress, "but this gets you off your feet faster." He sighed. "Think about it. You've had your past life experiences and every Dark One who ever came before you telling you that if you didn't choose a particular path, things were going to be even worse. Me? I just thought listening to my new 'friends' would be _fun_. You ask me, our extenuating circumstances cancel each other out."

"Still haven't lost all your innocence, I see," Rumple replied, but there was a chuckle in his voice and the mockery August had noted previously had changed to a sort of wry acknowledgment.

"Second chance?" August repeated. "I'll try fighting my past experiences and not assume you're trying to take advantage of my naiveté or better nature or what have you… You try trusting that if you want me around, whether it's for some repair work you want done or you want to rehash a few old decisions with someone who can probably see where you're coming from, or you just think you could use a bit of company… I'll do my best to be there. I mean, barring some major unforeseen disaster."

"This town seems to have its fair share of those," Rumple noted.

"I can't help that," August returned. "But most of the time, the usual heroes don't need my help with the major stuff. If they do, it's more along the lines of shoving the preschooler out of the line of griffon-fire and hiding in the bedroom with the door locked." He sighed. "I think we both know that, even if you could've taken a bigger team over the town line to get Regina and the others, I probably still wouldn't have made the cut."

Rumple shook his head. "I don't believe it crossed either of our minds," he admitted. "But I do take your point about the unpleasantness of being an afterthought."

"Hey. At least, people remember you when they need something. It's not like I've got much to offer."

"Oh, I don't know," Rumple replied. "I noted a number of loose floor boards in the attic earlier. And I daresay the roof may have lost some shingles over the years. Hardly work I'd expect a man of your father's years to be able to handle. But it occurs to me that you're likely up for the task?"

August laughed. "Sure. Just don't let Dad hear you talk about him that way! He'll remind you that you've got over a century on him, and then I'll have to listen to him rant when I get home."

"I believe we may have a deal."

August shook his head, still smiling. "And here, I was thinking we might have a friendship."

Rumple blinked. Then the thin smile that had already formed on his lips grew ever so slightly broader. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "Perhaps, we do."

* * *

After that, Rumple slept for a time, and if others tried to wake him, he couldn't recall them doing so later. The staff here had subjected him to a battery of tests when he'd arrived, and while nobody had bothered to disclose the results to him yet, Rumple knew his injuries weren't serious—cuts and bruises for the most part. Even the rocks that had shredded his trouser leg and the flesh beneath had caused only superficial damage. Painful, of course, but the wounds would heal, and they wouldn't require magic to do it.

When he opened his eyes once more, it was to sunlight streaming in through open Venetian blinds and he had no idea whether it was the next morning or if he'd slept around the clock. He looked about the room and saw that someone had thoughtfully leaned a plain wooden cane against a nearby chair. He debated for a moment before he sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Two steps to the chair, less than a dozen more to retrieve the bathrobe—he was going to have to obtain a change of clothing somehow and he wasn't completely certain he wanted anyone poking through his rooms and closets when he wasn't about, but that could wait.

He opened his door and peered into the corridor. He was only mildly surprised to find Booth sitting on the bench that David had occupied earlier.

"Feeling better?" August greeted him.

Rumple smiled. "Indeed. How long have you been here?"

"Couple of hours," August said, shifting his feet a bit. "We're… kind of setting up a rotation until someone feels up to casting a protection spell. That'll probably be Emma," he added, just as brisk footsteps drew closer and Dr. Whale came around the corner, a serious expression on his face.

"Good," Whale snapped at Rumple, oblivious to the fact that he was interrupting a conversation. "You're awake. Let's talk."

Rumple felt his features settle into their usual pleasant mask. "Of course, Victor," he said, still smiling, his posture relaxed and projecting an air of calm and control. Clearly the doctor needed his help in some matter but, so far as Rumple was aware, the other man had no leverage whatsoever, which meant that Rumple still held all the cards. Well. He supposed it might be amusing to hear the man out. And then, he'd have the perfect excuse for turning him down. Why, even Booth would likely back him, knowing what using magic might do to him now.

"Perhaps, private would be better," Whale said, giving Booth a meaningful look. "Your room?"

Rumple was about to protest, but something about the doctor's demeanor made his heart start hammering in his chest. He fought to keep his expression calm, turned back to his open door and held out one arm in an 'After you' gesture. "Now," he said, closing the door and masking his apprehension with affability, "what's this all about?"

Whale set a folder down on the night table. "I've just had a look at your tests. None of your recent injuries appear to be serious."

"You sound almost disappointed," Rumple remarked, feeling a load slide off of his mind. Those tests had been his first guess regarding Whale's concern.

"I'm not," Whale replied. "Actually, I'd like to discuss some of your older injuries."

"What, the ankle?" Rumple shook his head. "Medical treatment in the realm where I was born was a good deal more primitive than it is here. Or even in _your_ land, for that matter. I'd explored possible treatments during the first curse and, while some might grant me a measure more mobility, it would still come down to too little gain at too steep a price. Leave it alone."

Whale sucked in his breath. "That wasn't the injury I wanted to discuss," he said. "At least, not the original shattering. The x-rays we took yesterday showed a number of more-recent breaks and healing-overs. All to that ankle. Now, even if we were dealing with a case of osteoporosis—which we aren't—the most common fracture areas would be the hip, spine, wrist, and shoulder. It wouldn't shock me to discover that there'd also been some further damage to a pre-existing injury, but not to the exclusion of all other bones…"

Rumple felt his blood run cold as he realized what Whale had to be referring to. Magic could mask physical injury. It could banish pain. It could even hold the broken pieces of bone together, so that they would heal straight. However, it could not restore a bone to its pre-injured state.

"I'd venture to say," Whale continued, "that over the past year, your talus, fibula, and tibia—those are the three bones that make up the ankle joint—were each broken, set, healed, and then _re_ -broken, _re_ -set, and _re_ -healed. Repeatedly."

Rumple gave him a tight-lipped nod and swallowed hard. "It appears I didn't fully appreciate the amount of information that modern medical equipment might convey," he murmured faintly.

Whale shook his head. And in that moment, Rumple realized that Whale was, indeed, furious. But not with him. "How?" he demanded.

Rumple turned away abruptly, not wanting to discuss the matter, but knowing that Whale wouldn't drop the subject. "Well, how do you think?"

* * *

_"So," Zelena purred, tapping the fingers of her left hand along the blade of the dagger, "_ this _is the only thing that can kill you."_

 _She hadn't posed a question. She demanded no reply. He didn't have to say anything. Instead he stood, helpless in his own castle, feet planted on the wooden floor of his dining room, angry, frightened eyes fixed on the black-and-silver blade, while the witch sat facing him in_ his _straight-backed_ _leather chair, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, the dagger held casually, tauntingly, in her right hand._

_"All magic comes with a price," he whispered, his voice a shadow of its old sing-song. "Pay the piper, pick the tune. Pay the piper, pick the tune."_

_Zelena laughed. "There's no fun in killing you, Rumple. Nothing like the fun," she continued, drawing out each word with relish, "in… watching…_ you… _squirm." She studied him thoughtfully, letting the silence stretch. "Tell me, Rumple," she said, holding the dagger on the diagonal, the blade out and facing him, so that he could see his name emblazoned upon it, "Standing before me now, helpless, powerless… Does this bring up any old memories for you? Any times in your past where someone could make you do anything they wanted, and you couldn't do a thing to stop them?"_

_He tried to focus on Bae's consciousness, Bae's voice, drown the witch, drown the sorrow, drown the witch, drown the sorrow, but the dagger's compulsion won out. "Yes!" he snapped._

_"I thought it might," Zelena smiled. "You know," she remarked, "since last we met, I've dedicated ample study to subject of the past. Mine… Regina's…" her voice hardened, though her smile never dimmed, "…And yours, Rumple."_

_A low table appeared before him. On it, Rumple could see a warm meat pie, a straw doll with a blue jacket, and… His jaw dropped in horror._ How had she gotten her hands on that cup?

_Zelena giggled. "Yes, I thought that might hit a few nerves." She slid the dagger into a sheath on her leg, laced her fingers together, and stretched her arms over her head. "Yes… yes, I think I'm going to enjoy this. Hmm… Now, what should I have you do first?" She counted off on her fingers. "Smash that cup, kiss my boots… Oh!" she smiled brightly. "You know, Rumple, I don't believe you've ever told me the story behind that limp you've taken such pains to conceal." The dagger was in her hand again. "Tell me now."_

_He didn't want to. He fought not to. But the dagger drew the tale out, word by word, while Zelena listened avidly, her hands clasped beneath her chin, almost as though she were a child hearing a bedtime story. When, at last, he was done, she shook her head. "You know," she said, "I'm trying to imagine how that scene must have played out, but I just can't picture it. Tell me again," she ordered, brandishing the dagger once more. "And this time, don't leave out a single detail."_

_He would have choked on his words if he could have. Suddenly, he was thrust back on that battlefield, remembering the stench of mud and blood mingled with cooking fires and latrines, the way the smoke from those campfires stung his eyes, the gnats, mosquitoes, and lice that attacked even more savagely than he imagined the ogres would… He divulged every memory, as ordered, no matter how incidental, while Zelena heaved heavy sighs and tapped tapered fingernails in rhythm on the dagger's blade. And again, when he'd finished, she gave him a disappointed pout._

_"I still can't see it," she griped. "You must have forgotten something. Wait!" Inspiration seemed to hit her. "I know! Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it!" A large sledgehammer appeared next to Rumple._

_Despite himself, his hands began to tremble._

_"You know," she beamed, "I do believe a visual demonstration would be instructive." She clapped her hands together excitedly. "Show me how you did it."_

_His eyes opened wide, even as his hands obediently reached for the haft. There was a loophole, he realized; she'd only asked to be shown, she hadn't—"_

_"Rumple," Zelena raised the dagger once more, "when you strike your ankle this time, be sure to use as much force as you did on the earlier occasion. Oh, and wait at least an hour before you try healing it. Or doing anything else to block the pain." She nodded to him. "All right._ Now _show me."_

_His howls almost drowned out her musical laugh when his ankle shattered anew._

* * *

He wasn't about to tell any of this to Whale. But evidently, he wasn't the first closed-mouthed patient the doctor had dealt with. And while the specifics of his experiences over the past year weren't commonly known, it appeared that the generalities were. Whale regarded him for a moment and Rumple wasn't sure what he was thinking behind his sober expression. Then the doctor took a breath. "Are you safe here?"

Rumple looked away, never comfortable with appearing vulnerable, particularly not before people he couldn't trust to not take advantage of his weakness. Until a few days ago, he thought without irony, that list would likely have covered the entire town. "Oh, I suppose I'm as safe here as I would be anywhere," he murmured, realizing after a moment that the doctor was patiently awaiting a response.

Whale sighed. "Is there any way we can improve security? I've never really been comfortable with the idea maintaining a dungeon in the basement, but at least, until now, the people incarcerated in it haven't been dangerous offenders."

He had a point, Rumple reflected. The other prisoners that he knew of—Sidney Glass and Albert Spencer—were scarcely innocent of wrong-doing. But if they were to escape, Rumple doubted that either would be likely to present a serious threat to the town. Zelena was a different matter. He shook his head slowly. "The offender in question would pose an equal threat to me regardless of my location," he said keeping his voice even. He frowned. "I believe that the prince had mentioned a protection spell?"

"That's in the works," Whale confirmed. "Magic is a bit outside my bailiwick, but I've been informed by those more in the know that Emma might be able to cast one later today. Or tomorrow, by the latest."

He noted that Whale wasn't asking why Rumple himself wasn't casting one. Well. He'd known when he'd placed that initial phone call that word of his condition would spread. He just hadn't known how long it would take for the news to trickle down to the likes of Whale and other townspeople not generally in the loop. "Ah. Well then," he said, "at such time that Ms Swan is able to do so, this place will indeed be safer for me than any other."

"I understand." Whale picked up the folder once more. "With regard to your pre-existing condition," he said, "like I was saying, magic is outside my bailiwick. On the other hand, when it comes to cardiology…"

Rumple shook his head and raised a hand to cut him off. "Evidently, you're unaware that my condition is far more moral than medical."

"No, I heard," Whale said, a serious smile playing on his face. "But as you were saying a couple of minutes ago, medical knowledge in this land far outstrips anything you or I were familiar with in our pasts. And, thanks to the curse that brought us here," his smile widened, "I was provided with sufficient background, such that I can actually understand how a lot of it works. Now, while the curse might have given me the knowledge to be a family physician—probably because that was what was needed in a small town," he shrugged, "cardiology has always been something of a vocation of mine. Even during the curse, I was keeping abreast of developments in the field. Now, medical or moral, when a patient's heart is failing, in this realm, there _are_ treatment options." He smiled for the first time. "I was thinking along the lines of a transplant..."

* * *

Belle studied the page in dismay. She didn't want to believe what she was reading. Emma's theory had made so much sense, that Belle had assumed—at first—that she'd mistranslated. It was easy enough. Many words in Old High Fairy had acquired different meanings over the centuries. Others were obsolete or sounded similar to a more modern word, which was completely unconnected. But after perusing more than a dozen dictionaries, wordbooks, elementaries, alphabetical tables, and glossographias, she had come to the conclusion that she'd understood the passage all too well. The only way for a Dark One to be cleft from the dagger while retaining life and magic _was_ to use the hat and crush the heart of one who had known them in the past, before their name had appeared on the dagger.

Emma had been wrong about the lengths to which Light magic might go.

Or Merlin hadn't been as Light as they'd thought.

Or Merlin's magic somehow _transcended_ Light and Darkness.

Belle knuckled her forehead and rubbed at her eyes. She'd been debating going to the hospital—to see how Emma and Regina were faring, of course. And if she somehow happened to bump into Rumple, even though she was trying to give him his space, well mightn't that be a sign that the two of them could be reconciled? If, despite her intentions, they kept running into each other, surely that was Fate.

She wondered whether she'd believe that if she repeated it often enough while she came up with excuses to pass by Rumple's room and hope he'd open the door and see her.

She rather suspected that she was rationalizing again.

At any rate, unless she had good news to share, maybe it would be better to avoid the hospital. Emma would be certain to inquire after her progress and… and…

And three people Belle cared about were currently injured and under medical care, and she was trying to avoid them because she was afraid of being asked questions she didn't want to answer.

She was running away again, keeping secrets, and ducking the real issues, and all because she was still afraid of what others might think of her. Rationalize all she might, she was doing several of the things that had infuriated her most about Rumple. Instead of thinking about the right thing to do, she was choosing to do the wrong thing and then trying to come up with excuses to justify that choice.

Belle froze. Was that _why_ it infuriated her so much when Rumple exhibited that behavior? Precisely because she knew—and detested—the fact that she possessed the same shortcoming? More humbling: for all his professed—and actual—cowardice, Rumple owned his misdeeds. He might try to conceal them from her and from the others, but he didn't pretend to be some sort of hero. Or… or… How had Emma put it when talking about her parents? _Some paragon of virtue_.

Belle sucked in her breath. Then, deliberately, she grabbed her coat off of the back of her chair and shrugged into it.

"Leaving?" Tink asked, looking up.

Belle hesitated. "Are you… Are you going to the hospital today?"

Tink nodded. "Yes, in about an hour. Astrid is driving me."

Belle's eyebrows shot up. " _Astrid_?" she asked dubiously.

"Well, she has her license, which is more than I do, and fairy dust is in pretty short supply, here. Not enough of it to waste on getting small and flying." The fairy smiled. "She's a very careful driver, actually." Her smile grew strained. " _Very_ careful."

Belle was silent for a moment. Then, she set down her coat once more. "Do you think she'd have room for me in the car?"

Tink beamed.

* * *

The smile froze on Emma's face when she opened the door to Gold's room a second after knocking. Whale was in with him, and the tension in the air was palpable. "Bad time?" she asked, taking a backwards step. "I can come back later."

Gold shook his head. "There's no need," he said. "And if you're here to cast a protection spell, it's something that's best done sooner than later."

He glanced at Whale. "I believe we're done?"

Whale looked angry. "I don't understand why you won't, at least, give it a shot! It could be giving you your best chance!"

Gold snorted. "I hardly think that allowing you to poke and prod at my heart would accomplish _that_! When first we met, I well recall how eager you were to procure such an organ for your experiments. And now—"

"Now, if I was still interested in that sort of research, there's a whole vault full of hearts within the town precincts, which—if what you've said is true—would be much better suited to my purposes. But I really think this could work."

Emma looked from one man to the other. "What's going on?" she asked.

Whale regarded Gold angrily. "Do you want to tell her?"

"Actually," Emma said, "it's okay if you don't." Her curiosity didn't trump Gold's right to privacy and she knew she had to keep that in mind.

Gold sighed. "There's really no point," he murmured. But he turned to Emma and said, rolling his eyes slightly, "Dr. Whale seems to believe that my condition could be ameliorated by inserting someone else's heart in my chest in place of my own."

Emma's eyes widened. "Seriously?" She turned to Whale. "You mean, like a transplant?"

"Thank you!" Whale snapped.

Gold was shaking his head. "It won't work. When my heart fails, whether it's within or without, whether there's another in my chest or simply an empty space where it ought to be, I will die. As surely as if someone crushed the organ before me." He sighed. "The body knows its own parts. It won't accept any belonging to another."

Emma frowned. "Uh… wait. I'm no expert here, but…" She turned back to Whale. "That's normal, isn't it? For any transplant?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell him," Whale nodded. "Transplant rejection is almost always an issue. There are immunosuppressant drugs that can counteract it. If there's some magical equivalent that can accomplish the same thing, I'm open to exploring it."

Gold was still shaking his head. "I'll not be made a guinea pig for your science experiments. What you're proposing has never been attempted before, and certainly not successfully."

"How many realms have you visited that have this world's level of medical and scientific knowledge coupled with this town's level of magic?" Whale demanded. "Maybe it's never been attempted because this is the only place where both elements are sufficiently advanced. Or… should I say powerful?"

"Regardless—"

"Hey, guys?" Emma raised and lowered her hands, motioning for them to quiet down, "there are other patients here trying to rest, huh?" She took a breath.

"Whale, let's say he lets you try this. What's the risk?"

Whale shrugged. "I guess there's a chance he could have a bad reaction to one of the anti-rejection drugs. We'd monitor that and alter treatment accordingly if it was something serious. Otherwise, I'd say that the main risk would be that…" he turned to Rumple.

"You're right," he continued. "It won't work and as soon as your heart darkens completely, you'll die. The thing is, the treatment I'm suggesting isn't going to speed up that timetable. At best, it'll slow it down. At worst, you'll have the same life expectancy you do at this moment. Frankly, I don't know what you have to lose."

Emma took a deep breath. "I think I do," she said softly. "Doc, could you… give us a few minutes?" She turned to Gold.

"If you're okay with that, I mean?"

Gold gave her a hesitant nod. "As you like," he said with weary resignation. "Though if you think you can somehow change my mind…"

Emma sighed. "I'm not sure whether that's my place," she admitted. "But there's some stuff I want to get out that… that'll be easier to talk about if it's just between you and me."

Gold blinked. Then, slowly, he nodded again.

Whale looked from Emma to Gold and back to Emma once more. "I'll wait in the corridor then, unless I'm called away," he said, nonplussed. "If I'm not there, you can have someone page me."

* * *

"Oh, Doctor Whale?" Snow called out, almost the moment he'd stepped into the hallway. She was just emerging from Regina's room.

"Mrs. Nolan," Whale smiled. "How's the patient doing?"

Snow smiled. "She's awake and asking for coffee. That's not a problem, is it? I mean, it won't interfere with anything in her system?"

Whale thought for a moment. "Knowing the mayor's temper? I see more of a problem if she doesn't get it." He smiled. "No contraindications between caffeine and her medications. Just don't go overboard with it."

Snow gave him a relieved answering smile. "I'll get it for her, then." She looked to August, still sitting on the bench facing Rumple's room. "You don't mind waiting another five minutes or so for me to relieve you out here?"

August shook his head. "That's fine. I told my father I'd be home in about an hour. I've got plenty of time."

"I won't keep you long."

"August!" A surprised voice broke in on their conversation. "I hadn't expected to find you here." Mother Superior turned to Snow. "How lovely to see you, as well, dear."

Snow wondered at the strain in the young man's smile when he raised his eyes to the newcomer's. "Hello, Blue." When the fairy seemed to be waiting for elaboration, he added, "Just helping out a few friends."

"You're here for the savior," Blue said.

August nodded. "Among others."

"I see." Blue's voice was gentle, and when she spoke again, there was a measure of sadness in it. "Be careful, August. When I think back to the many troubles you suffered as a boy, and so often because you chose your associates without once considering that they might have their own agendas…" She shook her head. "I'd just hate to think that you still haven't learned discernment."

"I'm okay," August said firmly.

"I hope so," Blue returned. "It would be a shame for the past to repeat itself after you've come so far." She seemed about to add something, but she caught herself and smiled. "Well. You're no longer a boy, Pinocchio. I'm sure you can rely on your own experiences and your own conscience to keep you on the right path."

August flinched. "I—"

Blue waited for him to finish, but the silence dragged. Blue nodded. "Well. I'm sure, as you say, that you'll be fine. If you'll excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere." She swept off, her smile dimming somewhat, once she'd passed by.

Snow blinked and stared at the fairy's retreating back. "That was... abrupt. Is everything okay between the two of you?"

August shifted uncomfortably. "I hope so," he replied uneasily. He gave her another strained smile. "Better get Regina her coffee."

* * *

As the door closed behind Whale, Gold turned away. "If you think you can convince me to do as the doctor suggests, Ms Swan, I fear you're wasting your time."

Behind him, Emma nodded. "Self-preservation instinct not kicking in?" she asked.

Gold spun back to her then, his face contorted with rage. "If you've one of your own you'll leave now, before I—"

His fury caught her off-guard and she flinched. Then she took a deep breath and remembered Henry's observation from two days earlier.

_He didn't turn me into a snail and he didn't yell at me, so he's not mad and he's not scared._

After the week and a half they'd shared with Gold in Manhattan, Emma had just about forgotten how swiftly Gold's controlled demeanor could sometimes give way to uncontrolled fury.

 _The kid was right,_ Emma realized. _The only time Gold came close to losing his temper on the trip to Manhattan was when Henry was asking those questions that got him thinking how he was leaving Storybrooke for the first time ever and wouldn't have his magic. And even then, Gold only lost it for real after Killian stabbed him, when he was afraid he was going to die. It's like he has to frighten everyone around him, so they won't notice how frightened_ he _is. I guess my hunch was right, after all._

She took another breath. "It just keeps building, doesn't it?" she sighed. "You let yourself get talked into doing one little thing you wouldn't normally do, and before you turn around, suddenly your whole life is upside down and you have no clue how things got to that point. And the worst of it is, it's all going so well that you know it can't last and so, instead of trying to enjoy it, you sort of… try to end it early so at least it happens when you decide."

Gold's expression grew murderous. "Do you imagine that you can read my thoughts, Ms Swan? Do you truly think you know me?"

Emma shook her head and broke eye contact, staring instead at the toe of her red terry slipper. "Actually, I was talking about me," she replied softly, and though she didn't look up to check his reaction, she could feel disbelieving eyes burning into the crown of her head. She steeled herself and continued. "I was talking about the way I was when Henry first brought me to Storybrooke. And when he tracked me down, you don't know how close I came to just… calling the cops and telling them I had a runaway in my living room instead of driving him back here, like he was pleading with me to. Even when I was in my car on the Interstate, I was positive that I was just going to drop him off and then turn around and head straight back to Boston. Instead, I decided to stay for a week. And the next thing I knew, I was the sheriff, I had friends who were depending on me, I had a kid who believed I was some kind of hero and…" She looked up hesitantly. It was impossible for her to know with certainty what was going on behind Gold's now-impassive face, but his anger was gone and his eyes had softened somewhat.

"And it scared the hell out of me," she confessed. "See… uh, my whole life, I had people who went out of their way to tell me that I wasn't anything special. Or to make it clear that if I was 'special,' it was only in the sense that I was found on the side of a highway, which meant I was so _special_ that even my own parents didn't want me. Or because they'd read some book or article about how foster kids usually had 'issues'," she added bitterly. "Back in sixth grade, a couple of kids did a class presentation on illegal drug use in the public schools. And when they threw out a line about how foster kids were more likely to be drug abusers, I could just feel every head in the room turn toward me. For weeks afterwards, they'd come walking up to me—usually when a teacher was in earshot—asking me for dime bags. And the teachers just… ignored it." She shook her head. "Which, I mean, on the one hand was probably _good_ , because if they'd actually believed I was using, they would've searched my bag or tested me or something. But—"

"But even if they believed that you were innocent of such transgressions, they did nothing to support you or to prevent such goings-on," Gold finished.

Emma nodded. "Yeah. Hear enough times about how most kids in the system lie and steal because we haven't got parents to teach us what's right and wrong and… eventually, you get sick of trying to do the right thing and just… live down to expectations. In other words," she shook her head, "in case you were wondering, Neal didn't introduce me to a life of crime. I already had a record for petty theft and vandalism, long before I met him."

"So your taking a chainsaw to Regina's prized apple tree wasn't an aberration," Gold said dryly.

"No," Emma replied with a slight laugh. "That was… pretty much a flashback to my teens. So. I'd spent most of my adult life drifting around from place to place. I had a couple more run-ins with the law and paid the price," she admitted with a faint wince. "When Henry found me, I'd been a bail-bondsperson for about five months and, day-to-day, I had no idea how long I'd hold that job." She sighed.

"Less than three weeks later, I was Storybrooke's deputy sheriff, fighting to spend time with my kid, and… slowly building more relationships than I ever had at one time. And suddenly, I had a goal and I had a purpose and it felt great… And it terrified me. Because the more involved I got, the more everyone seemed to expect me to. And I didn't want people counting on me, when I was so sure that any day, they were going to see that I wasn't some hero or-or savior. I was just… me."

"No small thing," Gold murmured.

Emma pressed her lips together and nodded. "I didn't see it that way," she confessed. "Actually, I did try to leave—with Henry—right after August freaked me out by trying to show me that he was turning back to wood. I was so… invested in denying what was going on, who I might be, that I literally blocked my mind to anything that couldn't be explained away rationally. Like a guy slowly turning back into a puppet." She shook her head. "Henry convinced me to take him back to Regina's that night. But the next day, I convinced _myself_ that my staying in town was harming him and I had every intention of going back to Boston alone."

Gold turned shocked eyes on hers. "If you had done that…" His voice trailed off.

Emma nodded. "I know. If Henry hadn't eaten that turnover… Gold, if you'd been there that day, and asked me, while I was packing up, why I was leaving, I would've given you a whole bunch of reasons. Everything from Dr. Hopper thinking that the way Regina and I kept going at each other was bad for Henry, to your telling me you wouldn't help me in a custody fight, to…" She checked herself. "But underneath it all, it came down to me being scared that it wasn't just Henry thinking I could be some kind of hero. He was a kid. He was _my_ kid. I could handle that kind of talk coming from him. But when August started insisting on the same thing, when I realized that Regina was actually a little scared of me, _me!_ " she repeated. "And… and Jefferson wanted me to fix his hat. And Graham hired me as deputy sheriff when I'd barely found a place to stay. And you backed me in the election… Suddenly, everyone seemed to take for granted that I was able to handle stuff I'd never even considered myself capable of doing and every time I succeeded, it was like they—you—expected me to keep right on succeeding and sooner or later, I knew I was going to mess up big-time and it would be so much worse." She sucked in another breath and let it out. "I don't know if I was more afraid of messing up or of making good, but I didn't think I could handle either, so I tried to cut and run."

Her shoulders slumped. "I didn't know I was going to say all that," she added, her voice almost a whisper.

Gold regarded her for a moment. "Why did you?" he asked. "I mean," he tried to smile, "I'd be lying if I said your little speech wasn't enlightening, but what has that to do with what Whale is proposing?"

Emma placed a hesitant hand on his arm. "Because for the last few weeks, you've known what you were facing with your heart. And since then, at least, since you decided not to try to turn me anymore, I think you've been pouring a lot of effort into... into," she cast about for the right words, "I guess, into not being remembered as a villain after you were… well, gone. And you're doing it," she smiled. "I see it. More than that, my par—people who didn't spend over a week with you in New York are seeing it. And it can't be easy for you." She smiled. "Well. Being nice to Killian can't be anyway."

Gold snorted and her smile widened.

"But that's the thing," she continued, sobering. "While you've thought you only had days left, maybe weeks, I think it's been easier for you to do the right thing. Just like Neverland, when you thought you were going to your death. Just like when you faced Pan in Storybrooke and you _knew_ you were. It's a lot easier to die doing the right thing than to _live_ that way."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again and locked them on his. "If Dr. Whale's theory is right, then you're going to have a lot more time here than you thought. And now that you've shown us what you can do, you're going to have to keep on doing it indefinitely. And you don't want to let us down, but you don't think you can help doing so, unless…"

A tremor seemed to ripple through him and Emma placed her other hand on his opposite shoulder, steadying him. "You didn't ask my opinion," she added quietly. "I think you already know what it is. But it's not my choice to make. Whatever you decide, I'll respect it. But whatever path you take, you don't have to walk it alone, unless that's what you want." She tightened her grip on forearm and shoulder. "It's up to you."

Gold closed his eyes. Then he gave her a quick nod and brought his hands to her elbows. "You'll stand with me," he said, stating rather than asking.

"As long as it doesn't involve anything that might darken my heart," Emma said at once. For a moment, she worried that he'd accuse her of not trusting him after all. Then he smiled.

"Wise." He took a breath and let it out. "Very well. You may advise Dr. Whale that I'm ready to hear the details of his theory. You'll be present?"

"If that's what you want," Emma nodded.

"It is."

"Then I'll be there." They shared a smile. "Okay," Emma said. "But before I call Whale, maybe I'd better set up that protection spell before I forget."

Gold nodded. "Emma… Thank you. For your confidence."

Confidence had two meanings. Emma realized Gold had just managed to thank her, not only for her confiding _to_ him, but for her confidence _in_ him, and without stating explicitly which he meant. She shook her head, still smiling. "Hang on," she said. This'll only take a minute."

"Take as long as you need, dearie," Gold returned. "Some things oughtn't to be rushed."


	41. Chapter Forty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm keeping the names of Pinocchio's villains the same as they were in the Disney movie. The two scoundrels who sold Pinocchio to Stromboli and later turned him over to the Coachman were a fox named John Worthington Foulfellow (aka Honest John), and a cat named Gideon. This Gideon should not be confused with the OUAT character who debuts in S6.

**Chapter Forty-One**

Belle was trying not to get discouraged as she reached for yet another grimoire. This one had wooden covers that were bound to the vellum pages with rawhide ties. "I thought Astrid would be here by now," she said.

Tink glanced at the clock. "She could've gotten sidetracked," the fairy replied in a long-suffering voice. "Let's give her another five minutes and then I'll go loo—"

Heels clicked rapidly down the stone steps. Then came the sound of a scrape, followed by a quickly-stifled squeal, and then, a sigh of relief. A moment later, the heels started clicking again, this time a bit more slowly.

Belle looked up at Tink hopefully. The fairy nodded. "Astrid."

At the bottom of the stair, the heels broke into a run and, several seconds later, the library door opened and Astrid tumbled in. "Sorry I'm late!" she exclaimed with a nervous laugh. "I spilled something in the kitchen and I had to clean it up."

"It took you this long?" Tink asked.

Astrid flushed. "Well, when I got the mop, I… may have carried it horizontally and… swept some things off the counters."

Tink sucked in her breath. "And…?"

"And when I heard the crash and turned to see what had happened, I guess the mop _could_ have knocked some things off the shelves."

"Do tell?"

"And then… well… I mean, it wasn't my fault that when I turned around again—really fast, you know—I… sort of… knocked Merryweather off her feet and into the rack of blackthorn cordial and… and I thought I had better stay and get everything cleaned up, even if it was going to make me later, but Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather insisted on handling it and practically _ordered_ me to drive you to the hospital. Well. Actually, Merryweather said that if I didn't take you quickly, she might just bring—or was it _put_ —me there instead and… Tink? Why-why are you laughing?"

Tink was leaning against one of the bookcases, doubled over, trying to hold in her mirth as tears rolled down her cheeks, a broad smile pasted on her face.

Belle tried to look disapproving, but unbidden, a giggle escaped her. Then a guffaw. And then, Tink gave up and joined in.

"Sorry!" Belle gasped. "Sorry! I didn't mean to—"

Tink sank down on a cube-shaped stool, still laughing. "Not your fault! Oh, my!" she gasped. "Sorry, Astrid. I'm just picturing poor, poor Merryweather and…" She leaned back and nearly toppled off of the stool.

Belle took several deep breaths. "I… I think I needed that," she said.

Astrid took no offense. "Still nothing?" she asked sympathetically.

Belle shook her head. "No. I found something. Just… not what I wanted to find."

Tink, serious once more, walked over to the table. "What do you mean?" she asked."

"Well," Belle reached for the book she'd had earlier, noting that Astrid, curious, had drawn closer, "Emma was saying that Light magic wouldn't require the crushing of anyone's heart—"

"Well of course it wouldn't!" Astrid exclaimed. "How could anyone think otherwise?"

Belle opened the tome to the page she'd bookmarked. "Here's how," she snapped, a trifle defensively.

As the two fairies bent over the page, Belle watched as their expressions changed from dubious to astounded. And then, to her shock, Astrid let out a squeal and then both fairies began to laugh, Tink even more boisterously than before.

* * *

"Well?" Emma asked, as she rested one hand on the back of the chair by Rumple's bedside and trying not to show how tired she felt. "How'd I do?"

He didn't need to cast a spell to divine the answer to her question. He'd had his magic for nearly three quarters of his long lifetime and prolonged possession had long ago given him the ability to sense when an area had been imbued with such power. It wasn't something he needed to concentrate on to discern, any more than he had to focus to distinguish whether a fabric was wool or silk, blue or orange. He simply knew.

"You've been practicing," he smiled.

"Maybe a little." She turned and walked slowly toward the door, opened it and stuck her head into the corridor. Rumple heard her speaking with someone outside. A few seconds later, she turned back to face him. "August said Whale's with another patient," she informed him. "I… I think I need to go back and lie down for a bit."

Rumple realized that, despite the controlled temperature in the room, the savior was shivering and sweat beaded her forehead. "Yes," he said slowly. "You do. Emma, this… this could have waited."

She gave him a tired smile. "I didn't realize it'd take this much out of me. Anyway, it's done now. If it needs shoring up," she added, "I can try later."

He shook his head. "It won't," he replied, mentally inspecting her work. "You've done well, savior. Now, go rest."

"Okay. But send someone for me when Whale comes back. My mom's out in the hall now."

Rumple frowned. "There'll be no need for a guard, now that your spell's cast."

"Yeah, well, when I told her that, she pointed out that time when you were in a bad way and you still needed us in your shop, even after I cast that other protection spell to keep Cora out. Plus if one of us wants something, she can either get it for us or bug one of the nurses if they're slow answering the call button."

"Ah."

"Yeah." She took another breath. "Okay. I'm going. But seriously, get me when Whale comes back."

Rumple nodded. "I shall."

* * *

Belle waited for the gales of laughter to die down, taking advantage of those moments to get the worst of her irritation under control. She couldn't help sounding a bit testy, however, when she finally asked, "Would either of you care to let me in on the joke?"

"We're sorry!" Astrid gasped. "It's just… just…"

For a dreadful moment, Belle thought that they were about to start at it again, and for the first time, she began to see why her husband disliked fairies so.

"You…" Tink took several deep, calming breaths. "You don't know what this is."

"Evidently not," Belle snapped. "But you do."

Tink nodded. "Well… yes. It's, it's the calligraphy."

"The calligraphy," Belle repeated, wondering whether it was the fairies that were going mad, or whether it was she.

Astrid's head bobbed up and down as though on a spring. "You understand," Astrid said, "that learning to be a good fairy can be extremely complicated. I mean," she continued earnestly, "there's so much to learn and remember. How to go big and small, how to keep fairy dust from spilling while flying, how—"

"It's not so much the curriculum," Tink broke in. "It's that so many times, the instructors can be… well… either so dry that you want to pour a few calla lilies worth of nectar over them, or so… well, over-the-top enthusiastic that they can turn you cynical. And that's where this," she tapped the grimoire page, "comes in. It's, well… it's a chance to be a bit subversive."

Belle wasn't the one going mad. "Subversive," she parroted. "I still don't see—"

"All right," Tink said briskly. "In novice classes, there's little scope for originality. The instructor usually drones on and on—"

"And on," Astrid interjected.

Tink waved at her to be quiet. "And novices are expected to take down the material word for word, with no room to question or discuss. It's straight rote memorization. And some of the curriculum hasn't changed since, well, since the first baby laughed for the first time. So, to alleviate the tedium," she continued with a broad smile, "anytime we're forced to record something that just seems," she lowered her voice a notch, "utterly ridiculous… well, generations of fairies have been using this script. Sort of a way of complying with the requirement to get it all down, while quietly saying we don't actually believe a word of it."

Belle's eyes widened. "How… how long has this… subversion been going on?"

Tink and Astrid exchanged a look. "Forever, I think," Astrid said. "Older novices teach it to younger ones. It's been going on for ages."

"And… and Merlin would have known about it? What it means?"

"Well, I would think so," Tink replied.

Wheels were spinning in Belle's head. Merlin must have had a reason for using this script. She recalled a time when Rumple had tricked her into translating a summoning spell from Fairy into Common. He couldn't read Fairy; she could. But she had focused on the translation. She'd never have considered that the script style itself could a coded message. A message that apparently meant, 'Don't believe anything that you're about to read here.'

There was more. With sudden clarity, Belle realized that when she'd been taught to read Fairy, her instructors had focused on vocabulary, grammar, and syntax. She'd learned some of their history, at least enough so that she could grasp _some_ of the allegorical references. But, quite understandably, nobody had bothered to educate her on the subject of, well, she supposed it amounted to passive-aggressive schoolgirl rebellion. By using a code that any fairy who had ever climbed the ranks from novicehood onward would recognize, but one that would likely pass beneath the notice of any outsider, Merlin had all but guaranteed both that the secret would be unlikely to fall into the wrong hands, and that the key to interpreting the true sense of the message would not be lost to the ages.

Belle took a deep breath. "Tomorrow," she turned to Tink, "would you be able to help me go through these books and find _other_ passages written in this script?"

"I can," Astrid interjected. "It'll keep me out of Merryweather's way for a while." She looked at her watch and yelped.

"We have to go now!" she exclaimed. "If we're late again, Blue will be so cross!"

Tink picked up her cloak and draped it swiftly over her shoulders. "So write her an apology letter. Tell her it'll never happen again."

Astrid wasn't mollified. "But-but if it does, I'll have lied to her," she wailed.

"Not if you write it in this script," Tink rejoined, tapping the grimoire page with a mischievous smile.

* * *

Rumple was alone again. Emma had gone back to her room. Whale was elsewhere. Booth had stopped in to advise that he was leaving and reiterate that he'd be back tomorrow, and that Rumple could call him before that, should he be so inclined.

He suspected that Snow was in the hallway but, friendly though her husband had seemed earlier, Rumple certainly wasn't about to sit down and strike up a conversation with her.

No, the person he probably ought to sound out was Regina. Any heart that Whale might want to use would almost certainly come from her vault. Come to think of it, he mused, she'd already successfully performed a transplant of a sort. The prince was currently alive, well, and walking about with half a heart—and not the heart he'd been born with.

What Regina had done—splitting one heart in two and then placing half in each spouse's chest—was unprecedented. He wondered that Regina had dared to attempt it; the results could easily have been catastrophic. But the attempt had been successful. David's heart had been crushed to enact the Dark Curse, and half of his wife's heart now beat in his chest.

So, perhaps Whale's idea wasn't as preposterous as it had seemed at first blush.

But there were other considerations, as well.

If his heart was in someone else's hands, well, he couldn't be controlled in that manner. He'd placed the proper protections around it long ago, long before he'd ever taken on the future Queen of Hearts as his pupil. But as to crushing it? Well, that was another matter.

He didn't seriously believe that Whale's theory was all a ruse contrived to trick him into surrendering his heart. Whale wasn't that devious. And, while Rumple wasn't certain whether there was any equivalent to the Hippocratic Oath in the land from which the doctor originated, Rumple could appreciate that there a difference between passively withholding medical assistance and condemning a patient to death—something Whale had been prepared to do in Mendell's case—and actively killing someone. No, he genuinely believed that the doctor was trying to help.

But whether that would still hold true once he held Rumple's heart was an entirely different matter.

Rumple had become the Dark One to save his son from being drafted, to save his village from the ogres, and to finally be something more than the local coward. His intentions had been good. And they'd remained good, right up until the moment when he'd stabbed Zoso and taken his power.

It wouldn't take much. One person pointing out to Whale that he had an opportunity to stop the Dark One forever, another recalling all the evil that Rumple had perpetrated in the past… They'd never accept him. They'd never believe that he was trying to change. And even if they did believe that he was trying, they'd never fully trust him to succeed and they wouldn't want to risk him failing.

If Whale didn't crush his heart, then someone else would. Probably be hailed as a hero for doing it, too.

No, regardless of what he'd told Emma, he wasn't about to go through with the procedure. And he'd tell her—and Whale—as much, as soon as they returned.

* * *

As he donned his helmet and straddled his motorcycle, August was feeling jumpy. He had been, ever since he'd run into Blue at the hospital. As a puppet, he'd been virtually fearless, but it had been a courage born of equal parts innocence and trust. He'd simply never had the experience necessary to acquire caution. He'd taken people at their word and assumed that they had his best interests at heart.

Too many wrong choices, too many deceptions. As grateful as he was to Blue for giving him chance after chance to make good, seeing her now had reminded him of his past misdeeds. She'd bailed him out of a couple of his earliest mishaps, but when he'd been slow to learn, she'd left him to deal with the fallout on his own, seemingly never caring that he'd been bound for a life of slavery. _Not to mention firewood, if old Stromboli was serious about what he meant to do to me when my act got old and the crowds stopped coming._ He suppressed a shudder.

He'd never questioned her tactics, at least, not until he'd read Rumpelstiltskin's story in the old man's book. The questions had grown more insistent after he'd gotten his hands on Henry's edition and found out about Tink's history with Regina, and the price she'd paid for her good intentions.

When he'd been a child, he'd thought in terms of absolutes: good and bad, nice and naughty. You did the right thing or you paid the price. He'd never once thought to question whether that price might be inflated.

It had still taken a lot out of him to argue the point with Blue the other night. And she hadn't been pleased when he had, for all she'd stayed pleasant. But today in the hospital, it had sounded like she was trying to warn him, and he thought he knew why.

He'd never had the greatest taste in choosing friends. Honest Jim and Gideon had nearly tricked him into a bad end twice. Lampwick had encouraged him to ignore his conscience and led him down a dangerous path…

…So had the kids in the group home. He'd known he had to stay and look after Emma. The situation had been bad, not intolerable. It did no good to remind himself that at seven, there'd been scant looking after he could have done. At the very least, he should have kept tabs on her. Sent anonymous birthday and Christmas cards. Something. And even if he hadn't been responsible for the turns Emma's life had taken, even if he'd been powerless to protect her, he'd still grown up into a man who had a hard time turning down temptations when they were dangled in front of him.

It was probably why he and Rumpelstiltskin had connected now. They'd both made bad choices they hadn't fully understood until it was too late. They'd both felt abandoned. They'd both moved heaven and earth—to a certain extent, at least—to get back to a lost family member.

And they were both trying to make up for their pasts.

But it was just possible that when Blue had realized that August was there for Rumple as well as for Emma and Regina, she'd worried that he was being led astray again.

Was he?

He didn't think so, but then, he never did. But it couldn't be wrong to abandon someone in trouble.

_Blue did. And Blue's good._

Wasn't she?

Was Light the same as Good?

_Wasn't it?_

Thinking in terms of absolute polar opposites was simplistic, but it was also comforting. However, it was a child's outlook. He was an adult. And life was murky and messy and complicated. And villains did good things for bad reasons and bad things for good reasons.

And so did heroes, he thought, remembering what Emma had told them about her parents.

So, how was he supposed to know what the right thing to do was?

He wasn't certain. But he did know that abandoning someone in need—someone who was trying to do the right thing now, even when he had no reason to hope for a good outcome—had to be wrong.

_So, why had Blue sounded like she was warning him away?_

He shook his head. It didn't matter. He wasn't a little wooden kid anymore. He wasn't even a globetrotting drifter anymore. He had a conscience and it was telling him to stand by his friends—not blindly, of course; if he thought that Rumple was trying to steer him toward another bad end, he'd back away. But he wasn't going to abandon someone just because Blue disapproved—

He thought he heard a donkey bray and started. Then he heard the sound again and realized that it was a squeaky gate hinge. He gave a slight laugh and put his key in the ignition, paying a bit more attention to his surroundings as he gunned the motor.

* * *

"I don't get it," Emma said, after she and Whale had heard Rumple's refusal. "You were fine with this a couple of hours ago. What's changed?"

Rumple shrugged. "I've had more time to think the matter over and I've decided it's not worth the risk."

"But before, you—"

Rumple shook his head. "There are other risks. Ones that can't be counteracted by medications. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, but my decision stands."

Emma and Whale exchanged a bewildered look. Finally, Emma sighed. "Okay. If that's what you want, that's what you want. But seriously? I think you ought to rethink this."

"Gold!" Whale snapped. "This is your _life_."

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "I'm not certain why that should matter to you now," he retorted, "when it never has before."

"What?"

"Doctor," Rumple said pointedly, "after the First Curse broke, if memory serves, you were at the forefront of a mob out to take out your frustrations on the woman who had cast it." He locked eyes with Whale. "I _gave_ her that curse to cast. Why should I believe that my welfare is of any importance to you whatsoever?"

"Because right now?" Whale countered, "You're my patient. And I just might be your best chance. If you'll take it."

Rumple regarded him impassively and he sighed. "I'm not your enemy, Gold. Stop treating me like one." He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

After a moment, Emma followed suit, but not before squeezing Rumple's shoulder.

The gesture almost made him call after them, but he waited too long and they were gone. He closed his eyes, debating with himself once more. He didn't fully trust Whale. Certainly not enough to tell him the danger in surrendering his heart to anyone. If the doctor wasn't already aware of the risk involved, or had forgotten it, Rumple wasn't about to enlighten him. Emma, though, was a different matter. She would understand. And she seemed to have become rather adept at raising points and questions that didn't occur to him. Perhaps, she might do so again, once she understood the problem.

He got out of bed and made his way to the door, hesitating for a moment before he cautiously eased it open a crack.

Then he closed it once more. The pirate was sitting on the bench across the hallway. And he was talking with Belle.

Rumple had no desire to speak with either of them right now. He strode back to his cot as quickly as he could manage.

* * *

Belle hadn't really expected Hook to have been in to check on Rumple. She knew that he was mostly there for Emma. She supposed that, after everything Rumple had done to him in the not-so-distant past, she actually couldn't fault him. All the same, his attitude was irritating her.

"So, he hasn't come out at all."

Hook sighed. "Unless he's forgotten himself so far as to teleport away, he should still be in there, love," he repeated. "Go on and check on him, if you doubt me."

She had more than half a mind to, and not because she doubted the pirate. But even as her gaze slid to Rumple's closed door, she remembered all the times that she'd been certain she knew best, and completely disregarded her husband's objections. Sometimes, she'd been right to, of course, but there had been so many other times when the choice hadn't been between Light and Darkness, but between a quiet dinner at home (Rumple's preference) and dinner at Granny's during the supper rush (hers). At the time, she'd thought that it was good for them to go out and be seen socially, that if they didn't, people might think that she was ashamed to be in public with the Dark One, that maybe someone at a nearby table would eventually strike up a conversation and, perhaps, that might lead to Rumple becoming accepted by more people than… well, than just her. She'd overridden his protests, assuring him that he'd thank her afterwards. Thank her he had, but she suspected now that he truly hadn't enjoyed those outings. He'd just gone along with what she wanted in order to please her.

 _I might have thought_ him _selfish, but what about_ me _?_

Belle shook her head. "No," she said to Killian. "I believe you."

The pirate frowned. "Belle? At the town line, when you said that you and the Dark One—"

"He has a name!" Belle snapped. And if Hook called him 'Crocodile' now, she would… would… well, would probably do nothing actually; she wasn't about to assault anyone inside the hospital and get escorted out by security. _Or be locked up in the basement awaiting a psychiatric evaluation_ , she thought with a shudder. But as far as what she would hold herself back from doing…

"When you said that you and Rumpelstiltskin weren't together," the pirate amended, holding up his hands in a placating gesture, "that wasn't some marital spat, was it?"

"Do you think I'd've bared my heart to half the town if it were?" Belle retorted. She shook her head, her anger draining away. "Our falling out wasn't only his fault, Killian. I don't expect you to see the good in him; I know your history. But _I_ should have seen it. And maybe I should have trusted him a little less, but I also should have respected him a little more." She smiled sadly. "He wants me to stay away and, as much as I want to talk this out with him, if I push now, I fear I'll push him away for good." Her shoulders slumped. "And if I don't, I fear he'll think he's already done that to me. But for now? I think I need to take that risk, stop thinking that I know best, and give him time."

The grimoire she had tucked under her arm seemed suddenly too heavy to carry. She adjusted her grip, wincing a little as the edge of one of the metal clasps locking the cover boards together dug painfully into her skin. Well. She wouldn't bother Rumple now, but he wasn't the only person who might be interested in what Tink and Astrid had told her. "Do you imagine Regina might be up for some company?" she asked, brightening a bit.

* * *

Emma and Robin were in Regina's room when Belle eased the door open. The two women were deep in conversation and didn't notice her entrance. Robin spared her a welcoming smile before turning his attention back to the discussion.

Regina was shaking her head tiredly. "Really, Emma. You've met my mother. You know the truth about Graham. You know why Zelena challenged me to that witch fight on Main Street. And you still don't see what you were asking of him?"

The perplexed frown on Emma's face only deepened. "I thought you protected your heart from that kind of danger. Can't Gold do it too?"

"Protect his heart from someone using it to control him, absolutely. But from someone crushing it?" Regina sighed. "There's no spell powerful enough to countermand that. Once his heart is out of his chest, it'll be vulnerable. Rumple's been alive for a very long time and he's succeeded in harming a vast number of people over the years. And many of them—or their surviving kin—are right here in Storybrooke." She pressed the control button to raise the head of her bed so that she sat at Emma's eye level. "When I asked Robin," she turned to smile at the outlaw, "to protect my heart before I faced my sister, I'm not sure you can fully appreciate how carefully I considered my options."

She turned back to Robin. "I trusted you," she stated. "But as for your men? I'd… lost track of the people I'd harmed over the years. I didn't know who might be holding grudges."

Robin shook his head. "Understandable," he said. "I still wish that I hadn't had to—"

Regina shook her head. "There's no point in blaming yourself for the decision you made under those circumstances. I still have my heart. You still have your son."

"Is there any way that we can minimize the danger in Gold's case?" Emma asked, bringing the discussion back on point.

Regina looked thoughtful. "Until last year, I wouldn't have thought so. But after the experimental surgery _I_ performed on your parents…" She pressed her fingertips to her forehead and closed her eyes. "Let me think some more about this once the painkillers are out of my system. I do have an idea, but I'd rather wait until my head is clearer before I talk to Rumple about it."

Belle cleared her throat and both women turned to look at her.

"Belle," Emma greeted her. She gestured to the grimoire under the librarian's arm. "You found something?"

"I'm not sure," Belle admitted. "But I did _learn_ something. I'm not sure what it might mean, though." She hesitated. "You were talking about a way to help Rumple just now?" She wasn't used to seeing friends hesitate to share information with her, particularly when it concerned her husband. Watching the other three exchange questioning glances with each other as they debated whether to share their thoughts with her hurt, much as she tried to hide it.

"Possibly," Regina said after too long a pause.

"Whale has a theory, anyway," Emma nodded. She was silent for a moment longer. Then she seemed to reach some sort of decision. She looked to Regina once more and, when the mayor nodded in turn, gave Belle a small smile.

"Pull up a chair. We'll bring you up to date."

* * *

Belle was shaking her head by the time Regina and Emma had filled her in on Whale's idea. "So, he's made his peace with… with dying?" she asked, disbelief and sorrow plain in her words.

Emma sighed. "I thought it was just fear talking before," she admitted, still not sure how much Gold would want Belle to know about what had been discussed in confidence. "But, like Regina says, there are trust issues involved, too.

Belle hesitated. "I… I'm really trying not to make this about me," she said. "I am. But when he told me that he didn't think we could salvage what we were, maybe…" She shook her head. "Maybe it made it easier for him to choose to…"

"Well, if that's the case," Regina said tartly, "it'll pass." Seeing the expressions on the faces of the other two women, she rolled her eyes. "What? Either the two of you will patch things up or he'll find some other reason to go on. Rumple's not exactly the suicidal type."

"No, but it wouldn't be the first time he's sacrificed himself," Emma said pointedly. "It wouldn't even be the first time in recent memory. I agree with you that he's not about to fall on his dagger, but—"

"What is it?" Belle asked, when Emma didn't continue after a moment.

Emma exhaled. "We've forgotten something," she said. "Or maybe you haven't, but I did. If Gold dies here, then the Dark One takes over. That was part of why he came with me over the town line to look for you and Dad," she added, turning to Regina. "He didn't think he could fight it on his own. But he was, I mean, he has been ever since New York."

"Not all that long ago," Regina pointed out.

"No. Which is probably why that other… part of him was, was…" Emma cast about for the right words. "Okay, I-I get that the Darkness is part of him, but can we pretend for a second it's another entity?" She thought about how Gold and Neal had shared a body for nearly a year and wondered whether this situation was really all that different. "So, he's got this… this thing inside him that keeps wanting him to make bad choices. He's managed to fight it off before, for short periods of time, but sooner or later, he usually gives in. Pan was an exception," she added. "So now, he manages to fight back the Darkness long enough for the rest of us to give him another chance and let him come home. But that's also what the Darkness wants, right? To be back where there's magic so it doesn't just... just dissipate?"

"Go on," Belle said. "I think I'm starting to understand."

"Okay. The Darkness is willing to let him push back a little. I mean, it knows that up to now, every time Gold's tried to move away from it, it hasn't lasted. It thinks it's still going to win in the end. And with so much of Gold's heart being Dark already, I hate to admit it, but it could have a point."

Regina nodded slowly.

"But now, Whale comes along with this proposal that, if it works, might just give Gold the strength he needs to really fight back." She frowned. "A new heart wouldn't actually get rid of the Darkness, would it?"

Regina's eyes widened. "It might," she said slowly. "The heart and mind are pretty closely intertwined and just because our deeds are what darken our hearts doesn't mean that our hearts are the only place where Darkness resides. But even if giving him a new heart wouldn't eliminate the Darkness, it's safe to say that it would weaken it."

"Which would kind of give it a serious setback in its 'take over its host and run wild' plan," Emma said.

"Especially since Rumple's stopped cooperating with said plan," Regina said. "Darkness gains power through hopelessness and despair. Giving him hope that things could turn around for him…"

"But his fear plays right into its hands," Belle interrupted. "He's back to thinking about all the times he thought things were going to work out and he ended up worse off for it, all the people he thought would be there for him and not only weren't, but stabbed him in the back." _Including me_ , she thought, wincing.

"He's trying to fight over a century of Darkness with a little over two weeks' worth of optimism," Regina sighed. "Of course there are going to be setbacks."

"Any ideas on how to get him past them?" Emma asked. She looked at Belle hesitantly.

Belle shook her head. "I think I'm starting to see just how badly I let him down," she said miserably. "I-I do want you to tell him that I'd like to talk to him when he's ready. I worry that he'll misconstrue my trying to give him the space he asked for as wanting to keep away. I don't. But you and August were right before. He's allowed to decide whether to let me in. Until he does, if he does, I… I think I'm only going to make things worse."

Regina nodded slowly. Emma followed suit. Her eye fell on the grimoire, now resting on Regina's night table. "You said you'd learned something in that book?" she asked, gesturing toward it.

Belle blinked. "Yes," she replied. "Only it seems to be raising more questions than it's answering…"

* * *

After Belle had finished, the silence seemed to stretch for a long time. Finally, Robin cleared his throat. "I must confess," he said, weighing his words carefully, "I'm far outside my depth when the subject turns to magic. I may understand the benefits of a healing potion or an enchanted bow, but the knowledge in tomes such as the one you're holding," he gestured toward Belle's grimoire, "are beyond me."

His eyebrows knit together. "But while I may not understand magic," he continued grimly, "I know a snare when I see one. If you ask me, I'd have to say that someone has been baiting a dangerous trap."

Emma sucked in her breath. "I knew it," she muttered. She looked at Belle. "You were there when I called it, remember?"

"Yes," Belle nodded. "But… that would mean that the trapper could only be Merlin himself."


	42. Chapter Forty-Two

**Chapter Forty-Two**

 

Emma made a disgusted sound. "Every time I think I get the distinction between Light magic and Dark, something comes up to complicate everything. What the hell was Merlin thinking?"

Belle shook her head. "Astrid is going to be joining me—us—in the convent library. We're going to go back over everything and see if he used that script for anything else."

Robin was frowning. "Your question _was_ pertinent, though," he told Emma. "What did Merlin hope to gain by making it appear that the Dark One would need to crush a heart to achieve his salvation?"

Emma exhaled noisily. "I don't know," she admitted. "But in the world outside Storybrooke? I think we'd call it entrapment. In other words, tricking or persuading someone into committing a crime that they probably wouldn't have done otherwise."

"Why?" Belle demanded. "That's the _last_ thing I'd expect from someone using Light magic."

"I don't know," Regina said. "But if I were you? When I was looking to see those other texts that Merlin was writing with his fingers crossed, I'd pay special attention to anything pertaining to that hat."

"The question poses itself," Robin said. "As to whether this trap was meant to ensnare Dark Ones in general or Rumpelstiltskin in particular. Just how old is that text?"

"I can't be sure," Belle admitted. "I don't even know whether it's original or copied from something older. I can ask Tink or Astrid later."

"Well, do you know if Gold ever did something to tick Merlin off?" Emma asked.

For a moment, Belle frowned in concentration. Then she nodded uncertainly. "The-the gauntlet I found all those weeks ago, the one that made me think he'd been—" She stopped. "Well. I suppose what it made me think isn't all that relevant now. But Rumple got it in Camelot. And when he returned with it and I asked him how the trip went, his reply was, that it had been good for him, but bad for Camelot. You think…"

Emma sighed. "I don't know what to think. Besides looking into that, we should find out when that book was written. If it was more than…" She frowned. "Wait. You're saying he was in Camelot, what? About thirty years ago? That book looks a lot older than that."

"So does Henry's storybook," Regina pointed out. She shook her head. "You know, in the past, I've had a number of conversations with Jefferson. And one thing he told me he'd learned on his portal jumps is that time can flow differently in different realms." She sniffed. "I suppose it would explain why Zelena doesn't look thirty years older than I am, despite Storybrooke's having been frozen in time during the curse. She was in Oz, after all; time didn't stop there."

"There's another possibility, too," Emma remembered. Then she stopped as realization struck.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense, Emma," Regina prompted.

"I'm sorry," Emma said. "It's just… I don't know if I actually know anything."

"Some would call that a first step toward true knowledge," Robin said with a smile. "I've taught much to my band of Merry Men, but those who've picked things up the quickest tended to be the ones who didn't arrive believing they'd nothing left to learn."

Emma smiled. "Thanks. What I mean is, in this realm, we… know about Merlin, the same way we know about fairy tales, or Frankenstein," she gave Robin an embarrassed smile. "Or Robin Hood," she added. "In other words, while we get some parts of the story right, others are… are edited, or distorted, or just plain wrong. So, while I watched a movie about Merlin and Arthur—Arthur before he was king, I mean—back when I was a kid, and it stuck with me enough that I read _The Once and Future King_ when I was a little older, I don't know if this part is true, or if it's something that came out of T.H. White's head."

Seeing the perplexed look on Robin's face, she added, " _The Once and Future King_ is a book about King Arthur, written by T.H. White."

"I haven't read that one yet," Belle admitted, a trifle shamefacedly.

Regina shook her head. "There're something like a hundred and thirty million books in this realm. You'll get to this one eventually." She pretended she didn't see the gleam of excitement in the librarian's wide eyes and turned back to Emma.

"Go on, Emma. What is it you think you might know?"

"Well," Emma said, "in the book, it's written that Merlin lived _backwards_. That he was born old and got younger as the years passed. And he remembered things that were _going_ to happen. So, if he remembered that Gold was going to get that gauntlet…" She frowned. "Remembers? Will remember? Never mind. If he knew that in the future and wrote the book—will write the book," she made a sound of frustration, "I can't even talk about this without inventing a new verb tense, can I? What I mean is, if the book is from the future, then it could still just be a trap for Gold specifically."

" _If_ ," Regina cautioned, "that part of your book was accurate." She sighed. "Of course, we can't know without asking him—"

There was a knock on the open door and the four looked to see Henry beaming in the doorway, a multicolored bouquet of gerbera daisies in each hand. "Hi, Moms," he said, taking a few steps forward. "Uh… these are for you."

"They're beautiful," Regina smiled, reaching for one. Emma murmured something similar as she took the other.

"Do you have a vase?" Emma asked. She frowned. "Have I got one?"

"I'll inquire at the nurses' station," Robin said, getting to his feet. "If not a vase, perhaps they'll have a cup or a bottle."

"No, I'll go," Henry said. "I should have done that first."

"I should probably go, too," Emma said, getting up. She winced a bit as she put pressure on her knee. It hadn't taken as much damage as her shoulder, but it still hurt some. "I'll see what I can find. And," she smiled, "with any luck, I might be out of here tomorrow."

She nodded to Belle. "And ready to tackle more reading."

Regina gave her a tight smile. "How nice for you," she replied with a slight brittle edge in her carefully modulated tones. "Unfortunately, Whale wants to run a few more tests on me and make sure that Rumple's magical healing fixed everything." She saw the look on Emma's face and shook her head. "It's a reasonable precaution. Magic can mask a lot. And I've no doubt that Rumple fixed the symptoms. But he's not a doctor and he could have missed some underlying cause. If he did, then it's better Whale catches it now." Her smile grew warmer. "Besides, I really should pay him a visit to thank him for what he did. I can ask him about Camelot at the same time."

"You… you won't upset him, will you?" Belle asked hesitantly. "I mean, with his heart…"

Regina gave her a slight eye-roll. "I won't upset him," she said with a long-suffering sigh.

She waited until Belle and Emma had left and she was alone in the room with Robin before she murmured in an undertone, "At least… no more than I need to."

* * *

Rumple was trying to rest, but the light knock on his door had him sit up with a start. He relaxed when the door opened and Emma stepped in. She was wearing street clothes and an unzipped winter jacket.

"I just stopped by to let you know they're letting me out," she said. "Any idea when they'll release you?"

Rumple forced himself to smile. "I've heard nothing on the subject to date," he returned. "Though I daresay that it'll be soon. There's not much more that can be done for me here." He stopped, realizing that he'd just left himself wide open for the savior to argue the point and remind him that there might be a great deal that could be done, if he only allowed it. To her credit, though, she only nodded.

"I'll stop by tomorrow, then, if you're still here. Is there a good time to show up?"

"I…" Rumple shook his head. "I really couldn't say," he answered. He was too busy trying to remember the last time anyone had asked him a question of that nature. "As a rule, Dark Ones don't require much sleep, but after recent events, that no longer appears to be as accurate as it once was."

"Right," Emma nodded. "Guess I'll just hope you're awake, then."

"Actually," Rumple reflected, "I'd rather you woke me if I weren't."

Emma blinked. "Okay," she nodded again. "So, I'm off then. I'll probably head over to the convent after supper."

Rumple nodded. "Emma. Thank you."

She smiled and turned to leave. Then she spun back to face him. "Hey, Gold?"

He inclined his head slightly toward her.

"Some of what I was reading the other night… I'm not so sure I understood it. It seemed to be saying that the greater a person's Light was, the darker they could skew?"

Rumple nodded. "Hence the need for the blood of a Dark savior to infuse an ink that can impose a new reality on the natural order. There's a certain balance that must be maintained: the greater the potential for Light, the greater the potential for Darkness. You were born with Light magic. Your parents' actions only strengthened that potential by removing the opposing force." He frowned. "What was it you found difficult to grasp?"

"Well, maybe it wasn't that I found it hard to grasp," Emma admitted. She hesitated for a moment. "I… guess I was just wondering whether the reverse also held true. Whether someone with great… Darkness had an equally great potential for Light."

Gold blinked. Then he sank back into the pillows behind him. "You… have a penchant for asking questions not many would consider," he managed.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

He didn't answer for a long moment. Then, he forced a smile. "Well. I imagine that time will provide the answer to _that_ question at least. Good day, Emma."

She knew a dismissal when she heard one, but she was smiling as she left the room.

* * *

The next morning dawned clear and bright with no hint of fog in the air outside, or the thoughts going through Regina's head. She almost wished that the latter didn't hold true. It was easy to be Good when you associated with people who encouraged you along that path. It was easy to be Good when you were fighting as a hero and doing the right thing was merely difficult.

Sometimes, though, doing the right thing was embarrassing and painful and far too easy to avoid.

It was probable that if she opted against the course of action she now believed was warranted, nobody would fault her. Even if she were to discuss her options with people she respected, she had the sense that some of them would attempt to dissuade her, while others would say that she was 'going above and beyond'.

Perhaps, she was. Perhaps, she still couldn't fully believe that she'd left her days as the Evil Queen behind her and she was still trying to prove it to herself.

Did that mean that what she was planning to do wasn't actually the right thing? Or was it a question of doing the right thing for the wrong reason? Or was the reason actually wrong, or just less noble than she thought a Good act ought to be?

Or was she just making excuses for not doing what she believed she needed to?

Regina welcomed the wave of anger when it hit. She'd never been much for coddling, not for doing it to others and not for accepting it for herself. She didn't need empathy; she needed a good swift kick in the—

…Even if she had to deliver it herself. She swung her feet onto the floor and into a pair of purple Deerfoam slippers that Henry had brought her from her bedroom closet. She smiled as she did, remembering that he'd given them to her as a birthday gift, almost five years earlier.

Her smile faded quickly. The task ahead of her was not going to be pleasant, but after numerous conversations with Emma, she was convinced that it was necessary. At the very least, it might help to defuse a certain tension that had been present in her dealings with Rumple for the last little while. And maybe, just maybe, it would put him in a better frame of mind to hear her out when she broached the subject of his current condition and her ideas for ameliorating it.

* * *

Regina prided herself on never showing fear. Her poise occasionally yielded to rage. And in recent years, she'd even permitted herself to shed a rare tear outside the privacy of her vault or bedroom. But she was annoyed to realize that her heart was pounding as though in time with the music played in the Storybrooke arcade—and it was small wonder that Henry had gotten away with claiming to be there when he was sneaking off to be with Emma a couple of years ago. She'd seldom crossed its threshold; the heavy metal music it played over the speakers was more than enough to deter her. She might have let her aversion keep Henry away too, but at the back of her mind, perhaps even then, she'd felt some discomfort over pretending that her son was mentally troubled, instead of admitting to him that his beliefs about Storybrooke and its residents were true. At least, she'd felt enough discomfort to allow him the freedom to waste his allowance in the coin-ops, if that was his choice.

Regina closed her eyes and dredged up a memory of her mother berating her for being a bit too retiring.

 _"Really, my darling, you are royalty. And royalty does not cringe before its inferiors, nor its peers. Head up. Shoulders back. You're as good as any of them and better than most. When you curtsey to the duchess, you lower yourself one inch and not a fraction more and hold precisely three seconds. That's all protocol demands and that's all you should grace her with. If you're ever fortunate enough to be presented before the king and queen, then_ that _will be the time to lower your eyes and bend your knee to the floor. But for the likes of your father's sister-in-law? Who married his_ younger _brother? Oh, no, my dear; you shan't honor her any more than the law requires. When I was only a little older than you, I was forced to_ kneel _before royalty and when I was pregnant with you, I swore that no child of mine would ever grovel before some jumped-up tiara'd chit, simply because they were fortunate enough to have been born into the right family."_

Regina had frowned then. _"But mother,"_ she'd said, her fingers flying to the delicate silver crown atop her own head, _"isn't that why everyone in the castle—excepting you and Father, of course—is expected to bow or curtsy to_ me _?"_

The blow to her wrist from Cora's silk fan didn't truly hurt, but it startled her just the same.

 _"I worked to better myself,"_ Cora had retorted sharply. _"I'm working to ensure your position and future, even now. And you're fighting me at every turn. Now you will march yourself into the duchess's presence and you will show her the_ proper _respect. No more, no less. And if you disgrace me in any way, I promise you that you will regret it."_

She probably should be recalling another lecture. She'd been terrified as she'd been ushered into the great hall, not of the duchess—a woman only a few years her senior who hadn't been the least bit full of herself and had, in fact, done her best to put Regina at ease—but of her mother's wrath, should she fail to perform as ordered. And yet, as she lifted her hand to knock on Rumple's door, she felt her chin lift up, her shoulders straighten, and an iron rod lend stiffness to her spine. She might be a bundle of nerves on the inside, but Rumple would never know.

* * *

Rumple was growing restless. The hospital room was hardly a cage, but he was growing tired of the same four walls. He sat up, eyeing the wooden cane with distaste. It wouldn't require much magic to obviate the need for it. He'd gotten used to masking his limp over the last year or so. Why, when he'd fled Zelena's storm cellar—not realizing at the time that the witch had _let_ him go, so that Emma could separate him from Bae—he'd been able to run, even to leap over tree roots and other obstacles, provided he had the opportunity to spot them. And despite his clouded mind, there had been something exhilarating about having the freedom to do so.

No, it wouldn't require much magic at all. But he knew that if he tried to heal himself now, it would make it all the easier for him to justify using more magic later. And he simply could not afford to pay that price anymore. Healing Regina had been the repayment of a debt: she'd had the power to refuse to allow him to return here. She'd chosen not to use it. More than that: on the trip back from New York, as relieved as he'd been to be underway, there had been a weight that had settled on his shoulders and seemed to grow heavier with every mile...

* * *

_He was still trying to wrap his head around the events of last evening. Still trying to let himself believe that he was, indeed, on his way home to Storybrooke. He'd been terrified when he'd been forced to leave, but he was finding that the idea of return was equally frightening._

_He was in the company of people who had seen him at his darkest. Worse, they had seen him at his weakest. They'd come to him in New York, when he'd been powerless, penniless, and pathetic. They seemed friendly enough now. Well. Emma and Booth did. He was trying not to think about Belle. He knew that shutting her out was hurting her and, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he saw no way to avoid it. If he let her back into his life again, he'd only cause her further pain when he, yet again, failed to live up to her expectations. And he would fail. And eventually, her feelings would move past hurt and disappointment to anger and disillusionment. Her sorrow was hard enough for him to bear. Her rage, one way or another, would kill him. He couldn't let her back in, for her sake as well as for his. At least, for the moment though, the three of them were on his side. But once back in Storybrooke, how long would such associations last?_

_They might be his friends now, when there was nobody else about to question it, but back in town, how quick would they be to stand with him? Even Belle had seldom taken his part in public. And once back in town, once they remembered the disdain with which he was generally viewed, once Emma was back with her pirate and Booth with his father—both of whom, he had to admit, had good reason to detest him—he'd be right back where he'd started. Well. With two differences. He would still be dying, and he would now remember what it had felt like to have people in his corner. It would hurt all the more when they abandoned him._

_He wondered whether anyone else in the town had even noticed that he was gone. They must have. Surely someone must have had some dilemma by now that they would have needed his help to solve. Or, more likely, they'd found other solutions and realized that they'd never actually needed him in the first place._

_When they'd pulled into the parking lot in Tolland, he'd almost decided to remain in the car rather than approach Regina's Mercedes with Emma. But he had needed to stretch his legs. And he supposed he'd wanted to confirm that New York had been a pleasant interlude, despite the doom that had been hanging over him, but now it was time for normality to reassert itself._

_He hadn't expected effusive greetings, so he wasn't surprised when they hadn't been forthcoming. But Regina had been far more cordial than he'd expected._

"You're looking a bit better than expected, Rumple."

_Reflecting now, Rumple was suddenly certain that, like Booth on the library steps, she'd been trying to inquire after his health without acting as though she couldn't see the obvious. And, he thought with a pang, he'd automatically assumed that she'd been leading with a pleasantry, only to follow with some barbed insult. Oh, she hadn't greeted him anywhere near so warmly as she might a Charming, but even so._

"The town hasn't been the same without you, Rumple. I'm sure it will be… interesting having you back."

_Why, for Regina, that had practically been gushing. And he'd felt the cloud of doubt that had surrounded him slide away. Perhaps, that had been another reason he'd ventured out with Emma in search of her. It had definitely been at the back of his mind when he'd been murmuring reassurances in her car while they'd awaited further assistance. And, since he still didn't fully trust doctors or hospitals, and because Henry's resigned desperation reminded him too much of his eleven-year-old self, hoping anxiously for news of a loved one's recovery, he'd overcome his reservations and used his magic just once more._

_Rumple didn't care for many people, but his grandson was unquestionably one of the happy few. Besides, even if Regina hadn't realized the effect that her words had had on his apprehension, Rumple had still felt himself in her debt. She hadn't had to say anything to him, not even "Hello," though he'd expected that much._ She'd revived him. _It had only been fair to return the favor. And if there was only a short time remaining to him, then the debt he believed he owed her had needed to be settled quickly._

* * *

One didn't pay one's accounts only when it was convenient. One paid them when they were due. Despite the cost to his heart, the cost to his soul would be greater if he died without discharging his obligations. So he'd acquiesced to Henry's plea and healed her, hoping all the while that the price of such magic would be a light one.

He rather suspected that the price would be far heavier if he were to use his magic for his own benefit.

No, he wouldn't heal his ankle this time. But neither was he going to remain in his room if he was able to get up and walk about. He reached for his cane.

He was halfway to the closed door when he heard a knock on the other side. The knock wasn't surprising; most people coming in and out of the room offered him that much courtesy. The surprising bit was that when he didn't reply for a moment, the sound repeated itself. Generally, the knock was an indicator that he was about to receive company—Whale, one of the nurses, or one of the cleaners, more often than not—whether he liked or no.

His eyebrows shot up and he made his way back to one of the chairs, as quickly as he could manage. "Who's there?" he demanded and immediately wished he hadn't sounded quite so strident.

The door opened and Regina hesitated for the barest instant before she took a step inside.

"Your Majesty," Rumple breathed, inclining his head toward her. "How might I be of service today?"

Regina shook her head. "We need to talk, Rumple." She drew closer and began to lower herself into the chair a short distance from his. All at once she stopped and gave him a self-conscious smile. Until today, Rumple wouldn't have thought self-consciousness to be a trait with which the Evil Queen was at all familiar.

"Rumple?" Her voice broke into his thoughts. "May I sit down?"

He blinked. Now, why was she asking him instead of just taking the chair? What was it she wanted of him, he wondered. He imagined that he was about to find out. He affected an uncaring smile. "Just as you like, dearie," he replied, keeping his poker face intact. "Please."

Regina settled into the chair, crossed one ankle over the other and took another moment to marshal her thoughts. She tried to recall the telephone calls she'd exchanged with Emma while the savior had been in New York, and to remember what Emma had been telling her about the approach she—and the others—had adopted toward Rumple. _No threats, no commands, no deals. And if he refuses to do something, don't push._ In other words, toss every rule she normally had for dealing with Rumple out the window. She gave herself a mental shake. Very well. She could do this.

"I stopped in to say thank you," she began. "Henry told me what you did for me while I was asleep."

Rumple smiled and lowered his eyes briefly. "You're quite welcome," he returned, his eyes narrowing as he locked them on Regina's once more. "But that's not the only reason you came, is it?"

He wasn't a mind-reader, Regina reminded herself. But he had to have deduced that she wouldn't have needed to pull up a chair if she was just stopping by to express her gratitude. She shook her head. "No, it isn't."

"Ah." He shook his head. "Then I suspect I know the other reason why you're here. Is it at Whale's behest or the savior's?"

Regina sighed. "I'm here on my own," she said. "I wanted to tell you…" She took a breath. "Look. I realize that what I'm about to say is going to sound ludicrous, considering that I shoved my mother through a portal to another realm and hired Hook to rip out her heart. And that I crushed my father's heart to enact the curse. Notwithstanding those actions…" she paused for a beat, "Family is important to me."

A shadow seemed to fall across Rumple's face and his eyes went flat. His voice remained even, though, as he replied, "Go on."

Regina could feel her poise begin to falter and she forced herself to maintain eye contact. "After we defeated my sister and rescued Snow's baby, I…" she hesitated and took another second to marshal her thoughts. "I'm not making excuses for the person I used to be. When I wielded Light magic during that battle, I felt like I'd finally gotten some acknowledgment from… Well, from Fate I suppose. That my efforts to change for the better had finally been recognized."

She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head slightly. Then she opened them and locked her gaze with Rumple's once more. "Zelena is the last blood relative I have," she said quietly. "As wicked as her deeds were, I didn't—and don't—believe that they outdid mine. And although, at times, it's taken a lot of effort, I've managed to move a number of steps away from the person I used to be. I thought that, given an opportunity, she could, too. I wanted to give her a second chance. But…" she sighed, "that decision wasn't mine alone to make. At least, it shouldn't have been. I don't know how else I could have stopped you without picking up your dagger, but I should have been able to come up with _something_." She heaved a sigh. "I'm… sorry, Rumple. That was one line I never should have crossed."

Rumple pressed his lips together and gave her a quick nod.

Regina waited to see whether any further response was forthcoming, but when Rumple remained silent, she rose to her feet. "I appreciate your hearing me out," she said softly.

As she turned, to leave, he called after her, "I don't suppose that she played any role in your little misadventure by the town line?" When Regina spun back to face him, he spread his arms in an elaborate shrug. "I only ask, dearie, because she appeared to be mostly unharmed and you bore the brunt of it. Was that luck or design?"

Regina shook her head. "I can't say for certain, but I believe she was dozing at the time. I just… hit an ice patch."

"Ah." Rumple nodded. "Well. I thank you for coming by, Your Majesty. Is that everything?"

Regina hesitated. "Not… exactly. For the record? Emma did talk to me about Whale's theory, but neither she nor Whale asked me to bring it up with you."

Rumple's eyes went flat once more. "But you're about to, regardless."

Regina's chin lifted. Now that she was done humbling herself, she could feel her usual composure returning. "Well, as much as I understand your reasons for refusing, have you considered that in doing so, you're playing right into your darker self's hands…?"

* * *

August was beginning to wonder whether he was having some kind of breakdown. It seemed that every time he turned around, something happened to remind him of his misspent childhood. This time, he'd been standing in line at Mr. Clark's pharmacy, a box of chamomile tea and some over-the-counter sleep aid in his shopping basket, when he'd heard a shriek from behind him. He'd turned to see Aurora trying desperately to calm her crying infant. But even though logic told him that the baby—August remembered his name was 'Philip,' just like his father's—was far too young to be speaking yet, all at once, August was certain that he could hear words mixed in with the wailing. At first he thought it sounded like little Philip was just crying out for 'Mama'. Then he froze. Those cries. They were almost like…

_"Mama! Maaaaaaaaaaamaaaaaaaaaaaa! Hee-haw! Hee-haw!"_

The shopping basket dropped from his hand, but he was running almost before it hit the ground. His heart was pounding, he felt as though he was struggling for breath, and he just had to get out, get some air, get away!

"August?" Tom Clark called after him. "You okay?"

August didn't so much as pause on his way out the door. A moment later, he was gunning his cycle. He needed help and he needed it fast. And somehow, he didn't think herbal tea and Sominex were going to cut it.

* * *

Regina's question seemed to hang, echoing in the air between them and Rumple tried to keep his temper. Of course he'd considered the possibility. He'd been considering the possibility since his return to Storybrooke. But he didn't see as he had much choice. His decision to leave with Emma had been forged of equal parts terror at facing the time left to him without the savior's support and with Belle's pleas for a reconciliation he was still convinced would only cause them both more pain, and determination that before he died, the town would finally see him as something other than a villain. But now that they'd returned from their rescue mission, he still felt as though he was on borrowed time. The reappearance of the letters on the dagger was encouraging, but his heart was still Dark and that Darkness was still killing him, albeit more slowly. If his current spate of good deeds might be reversing that trend, he knew full well that he wouldn't be able to keep that trend going much longer. Eventually, his Darker nature would win out. He would, once again, undo all the goodwill he'd accrued and lose the merits he'd achieved. He always had. He…

He caught his breath. And, despite the grip he thought he had on his emotions, he felt his eyebrows lift, while he flinched as though he'd been visibly struck.

Fear had always been his close companion—he _was_ , after all, a lifelong coward. He'd thought that in recent days, he'd shed that aspect. At least, he'd gotten to where he could face death with a certain level of peace and acceptance. Only, he thought with a frown born of sudden comprehension, that _wasn't_ entirely what he'd been doing. The acceptance was there, yes. But it wasn't coming from a place of peace.

It was coming from a place of hopelessness.

It was coming because, in his heart of hearts, he believed that he was powerless to prevent the Dark One from consuming him.

It was coming because, no matter what he did, no matter how close he was to getting what he wanted, it nearly always eluded him. And on those rare occasions when he did achieve his desires, he inevitably found some way to lose them. And so now, even when things were beginning to turn around for him, he still couldn't fully credit that this time might be different.

It was coming… because his Darker side _wanted_ him to despair, wanted him focused on being weak and helpless and without power to change his fate. And since he'd lately been meeting with a certain degree of success in resisting its more obvious temptations, it was trying a subtler route.

He sucked in his breath and recoiled as though he could escape its blandishments that way. Then he realized that Regina was doing her utmost not to stare at him.

"Rumple? Are you all right? Should I get a doctor?"

He doubted whether she was truly worried about him. More likely, she was concerned about being alone with him if he was having some sort of fit. Regardless, the concern in her voice was enough for him to compose himself once more. He shook his head. "I don't believe that will be necessary," he said, with a hint of his usual clipped tones. He affected a sigh.

"Well," he allowed, "I suppose you won't leave until you say what you came here to say, so I'd best hear you out, dearie."

Regina blinked. Then she resumed her seat, settling a bit more comfortably into the chair. "I think," she said with a small smile, "that there's a way to neutralize the threat of someone crushing your heart, while simultaneously giving you more of a fighting chance."

Rumple's eyes widened slightly, but there was no hint of emotion in his voice when he replied, "Do tell."

If anything, Regina looked a bit more nervous than she had when she'd thought he was having a seizure. "I was thinking," she said slowly. "We both know the risk to your heart once it's entirely out of your chest."

"Interesting choice of phrasing," Rumple retorted. "I do hope you weren't thinking that leaving it protruding from my ribcage would achieve anything other than providing a way to unnerve any trick-or-treaters bold enough to ring my doorbell in about ten months, assuming I live so long."

That earned him a sniff. "My choice was intentional, but you took the wrong meaning. I was thinking about the procedure I performed for Snow and David last year, and I realized something. For all Whale's faith in immunosuppressant drugs, it's safe to say that the more compatible the replacement heart is with yours, the better your chances."

"If I accept his suggested treatment."

"If you accept the modifications to his suggested treatment that I'm proposing now," Regina smiled. "I believe I'd be more likely to find a good match, if I had your heart with me for comparison. At least," her smile widened, "if I could have _half_ of it with me…"

Rumple's eyes grew wide. "Half?" he repeated.

"I can split your heart," Regina said. "I can leave half of it in your chest—we know that's survivable; there are two people currently waltzing around town in that state—and take the other half with me to my vault to try to find the best match for it. When I do, I can either switch one for the other or, perhaps, split that one as well and combine one half from each." She hesitated. "That way, even if something happens to the half in my possession, you'll survive it."

"And if you can't find an appropriate donor heart?"

"Then Whale gets to use those medications he was touting earlier."

Rumple didn't smile. But he did thrust his hand into his chest. He hesitated for several interminable seconds before he pulled his heart forth. Without looking, he thrust it at Regina, hoping she'd take it before he changed his mind.

She did. And when Rumple apprehensively turned back to look at her, he saw a tiny smile playing about her lips.

"Something amuses you, Your Majesty?"

Regina looked up, then. "When I was speaking with Emma earlier, she reminded me of the ways in which our stories have been distorted in this realm. Looking at your heart," she continued, "reminds me of one such detail."

"Oh?"

Regina sighed. "In one of this realm's versions of my story, I—or rather, the Grimm version of the Queen—tricked Snow into biting into the apple by telling her that if she feared poison, I'd cut the apple in half and I'd bite into the white half, while she bit into the red. Because the apple was enchanted so that all the poison was in the red half."

"I'm afraid I fail to see the relevance, dearie."

"Don't you?" Regina asked, smiling once more. She held Rumple's heart up to him. "I believe that in conventional parlance, you've just caught a break. The natural place to split your heart would be here," her fingers gently traced an imaginary line along the organ's circumference. "Once I do that," she continued, "you'll note that everything in here that hasn't yet succumbed to Darkness will reside in one half. Obviously, the half I'll be giving back to you," she added.

Rumple looked at the tiny sliver of red that remained and nodded, still unsure what she was getting at.

"Don't you see? This is… what? Maybe two percent of your heart? Well, once this half is back in your chest, that'll be four percent."

"Still a tiny minority."

"But double what it is now." She pressed one hand to each side of his heart, preparing to twist. Rumple sucked in his breath and Regina looked up and smiled. "If I remember correctly, you'll feel some discomfort for a moment, but it will pass."

Rumple nodded tersely, turning away so as not to watch. Some of his tension seemed to communicate itself to the organ in her hands and Regina realized that there was a potential problem. When she'd divided Snow's heart, she'd had reservations, but Snow hadn't. Snow had asked—begged, rather—Regina to do the procedure and she'd wanted it _wholeheartedly_. At that time, Regina hadn't felt anywhere near the level of resistance she was encountering now. She could probably still split Rumple's heart, but if his reluctance was contributing to the obstruction she was encountering now, forcing the separation might have dire consequences. She just didn't know.

A memory flashed into her head. Henry, two years old and sick with a stomach bug. Whale had told her that it would run its course, and Henry needed little more than rest and TLC. "Just make sure he takes in plenty of fluids," he'd added.

Accordingly, Regina had prepared a bowl of clear broth, but Henry had been two and he'd already learned that 'No' was a word of immense power. Regina hadn't wanted to provoke a tantrum, but the queen in her refused to cater to a toddler's whims and offer some other liquid. Instead, she'd distracted him, waving a toy airplane before him with one hand and, when Henry had squealed and reached toward it, shoved a spoonful of soup into his open mouth with the other.

She wasn't about to dangle a toy in front of Rumple. But there was still something to be said for distraction over brute force.

"Funny the things that come to mind sometimes," she remarked, relaxing her grip on the heart. "I've tried to ignore that version of the story as much as I could."

"The one that reduced you to a one-note caricature who would commit murder because a teenaged girl was prettier than you?" Rumple muttered.

"No, that one's in most of the tellings," Regina sighed. "I can deal with being thought vain. Stupid, on the other hand…" She took another breath. "I mean, in that version, first I send my huntsman to kill her—which is, at least, accurate. Then, when that fails, I make three more attempts in person. First, I try asphyxiating her with a corset string, then I sell her a poisoned comb, and then I trick her with that apple." Inwardly, she cursed herself for bringing the apple analogy up earlier. She thought she'd felt the tension in the heart begin to ease, but mentioning the apple seemed to stoke his apprehension. "Fine," she continued. "Nothing works. And eventually, True Love's Kiss wins out. A few weeks later, I get a wedding invitation. Now, considering those four murder attempts, you'd _think_ I'd know better than to actually attend. But no, clearly in that version, 'vain' and 'silly' go hand in hand. So I attend and find a… very warm reception."

Rumple looked up. "Ah, yes. The white-hot shoes."

"The white-hot shoes," Regina nodded. "In retrospect, death by archer squad has more to recommend it than I'd thought."

"Well, at least you didn't stamp your foot into the ground and break yourself in two trying to pull yourself out."

"No. And I didn't start doing a victory dance around a bonfire while singing out the answer to the riddle I'd charged the queen to answer, knowing she had her spymaster's people combing the kingdom for a clue."

Rumple made a scoffing sound. "I suppose your counterpart wasn't the only villain made to look the fool in those tales." He gasped suddenly and clutched at his chest.

Then he turned to look at Regina, who was now holding half of his heart in each hand.

"I think that went rather well," she remarked. "Wait." She set the darkened half down carefully on the table by his bed.

"What are you doing?"

"Just making sure we have something for comparison." One of her fingertips began to glow with silver-white light. "In case what I've done here now somehow impacts the rate of deterioration," she locked her eyes with his for a moment, "I just want to mark the boundaries of the area that hasn't Darkened. And since I've got my doubts about using a Sharpie for that purpose…"

Quickly, she traced the red portion of his heart with her fingertip. Although it never touched his heart, the area that surrounded it began to glow. "That boundary won't shift, even if the dark-light balance does," she told him.

"I'm familiar with the theory," he snapped testily.

Regina fought the urge to snap back. He wasn't being ungracious. He was nervous and she couldn't blame him. At this moment, if she chose, she could crush both halves and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop her.

And then, as quickly as that thought surfaced, she banished it and thrust the 'better' half of Rumple's heart back into his chest. "You're all right?" she asked quickly.

Rumple didn't answer immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes, a deeply-probing look resting on his face. When he opened them again, he smiled. "I believe I am," he said slowly. "I-I thank you for this."

"You're welcome," Regina smiled. "And now, maybe you can tell me what you did to antagonize Merlin when you were gadding about Camelot?"

Rumple blinked. "Merlin? I-I never met him. I was expecting a confrontation when I sought out that gauntlet, but I learned then that he'd disappeared years ago." A puzzled frown came to his face. "What made you sound so certain I'd crossed paths with him?"

Regina sighed. "Belle found something in one of his books. Something that seems to say that what you thought you needed to do to get free of the dagger, might have been some sort of trap."

"A trap?" Rumple repeated, his eyes hardening.

"She and Emma are going back to the convent tonight to try to find a few more pieces to _that_ puzzle. But when we were discussing it earlier, the question came up as to whether that particular intrigue was aimed at every Dark One, or just you."

"Ah," Rumple said, still sounding somewhat disturbed. "Well, so far as I know, dearie, our paths have never cro—" He broke off in mid-word with a frown.

"Rumple?"

Rumple was silent for almost a full two minutes, long enough for Regina to wonder whether she ought to edge away and return later. His eyes were closed and the probing look was back on his face. Just as the queen was about to rise, though, Rumple's eyes opened once more.

"Rumple?" Regina repeated. "Are you okay?"

Rumple hesitated a few seconds longer. "Perhaps you aren't aware," he began haltingly, "but every Dark One carries within him—or her—the memories of those Dark Ones who came before him. _I_ have never met Merlin. But one of my predecessors has. And she isn't sharing her experiences with me at the moment."

"She?" Regina repeated.

Rumple nodded. "You said that Belle and Emma are looking for more… pieces to this puzzle? If you should speak to either of them before I do, tell them to see what they can find out about _Nimuë_."

"Nim-a-way?" Regina repeated blankly. "Who was she?"

"The first Dark One," Rumple replied. "And it was Merlin who made her so."


	43. Chapter Forty-Three

**Chapter Forty-Three**

August was halfway to the hospital before he realized what he was doing and pulled over to the side of the road.

"Selfless, brave, and true," he reminded himself forcefully. "I can't do this." But surely, his need outweighed any—

No. He'd been down that path before. Just as desperate. Perhaps, even more so. It hadn't justified what he'd done then and it wouldn't justify—

_It's not like I'd be posing as his son, this time. I'd just be asking for his help. He even said we were friends. Friends help each other._

Yeah. Friends helped each other. But Rumpelstiltskin didn't have a whole lot of friends. What he _did_ have—had had—were a whole lot of people who had pretended to be his friends long enough to get what they wanted out of him and then kick him to the curb. And even if August had no intention of joining that line, why should Rumpelstiltskin believe it?

Plus, if he asked Rumple for help, he knew Rumple would assume he was asking for magic. And using magic was what had given Rumple that heart attack in the first place. So, in effect, he'd think that August was taking advantage of his recently-declared friendship to ask Rumple to put his life on the line.

And if he was being honest with himself, could August truly say that he wasn't hoping for some sort of discreet solution, magical or otherwise?

It wasn't as though Rumple hadn't _already_ helped him. But then, it wasn't as though August hadn't helped Rumple earlier. It was the same dilemma: how could he even broach the topic without risking Rumple believing that August had only been feigning friendship in order to take advantage of Rumple's code of honor?

And _was_ he taking advantage?

August pulled off his helmet and wiped his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. Maybe he _should_ talk to Archie about it after all.

And if Archie sided with Blue and told him that he needed to take a few steps away from Rumple?

August swallowed hard. Maybe that _was_ why he'd been having these dreams and flashbacks. Maybe it was his subconscious trying to warn him not to trust the wrong people. Maybe he _should_ —

Maybe he should remember that it was thanks to Rumple that he hadn't spent his first night back in Storybrooke getting plastered and probably sleeping it off in some alley.

 _He already knows I have nightmares. He won't hold those against me. He has them, too._ August took another moment to weigh the pros and cons. Then he donned his helmet once more and continued on his way, hoping that when he did speak to Rumple, he'd be able to get the right words out. Hoping that Rumple would give him the chance to _get_ them out.

"Selfless, brave, and true," he muttered once more. "Emphasis on 'brave'." _But not forgetting the other two either._

* * *

"Nimuë," Emma repeated. "Got it. Thanks." She hesitated. "He's okay?"

Regina moved her phone's mouthpiece away from her lips for a moment and glanced at Rumple. "She's asking how you are," she mouthed.

Rumple blinked. "Time will tell, I imagine," he replied. "But thank her for asking."

Regina hesitated. Then she held her phone out to him. Rumple shook his head. "Just relay the message," he murmured, sinking back into the pillows and closing his eyes.

Regina shrugged. "He seems his usual cheerful self," she remarked. "I guess you'll be pulling another late night, so I'll collect Henry from the mansion in about half an hour. No," she smiled, "of course I don't min—" Regina broke off in mid-word. "Something's just occurred to me. The fairies may have an extensive collection of spell-books and artifact records in their basement and that's fine if you're looking for information on an enchantment or an object. But if you're looking for a story… I'd check out places where other storybooks abound. I know how excited Henry was when he found those blank books in the mansion's library, but it might be worth it to check out the rest of the shelves and see whether some of those volumes are already written in. I mean, according to Blue, that _is_ his house, after all." She smiled. "Yes, you're quite welcome. Have a good evening."

She ended the call and realized that Rumple's eyes were wide open once more. "You didn't thank her," he said.

"You want a message delivered properly, then you do it," Regina retorted.

"By the way," Rumple added, "I believe that you may well be onto something with the Sorcerer's library. But I think it would be easier for the savior to concentrate her efforts in one location. Spells are frequently written in Faerie or Elvish. _Stories_ , on the other hand, are more likely to use the common vernacular. Perhaps, Henry might be interested in assisting on that project." A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "I suppose he'll be more amenable if he attaches some memorable moniker to the task."

"He… was calling the search for _my_ happy ending, 'Operation Mongoose,'" Regina admitted with an answering smile.

Rumple blinked. "I don't know that I understand the logic behind that one. Nevertheless, if he wishes to expand the scope of his mission to include multiple happy endings, he can call it whatever he wishes."

Regina raised an eyebrow. "You've been observing him for a long time, haven't you?" she remarked, not sounding much put out.

"He's a remarkable young man," Rumple returned. "And, seeing as I was instrumental in clearing the way to your adopting him, even during the curse, I confess I was curious as to what would become of him down the road. Not that I could have predicted much of what's already come to pass."

"I thought you could see the future."

"Some," Rumple admitted, "but it's never been a reliable gift and it tends to obscure more than it reveals, for the most part. A pained smile flashed across his face. "You don't honestly believe that I would have made nearly so many poor choices, had I been able to see where they'd lead, do you, dearie?"

Regina blinked. "I don't suppose I ever thought about that."

"Well," Rumple replied, "I have. And now," he added, "if you don't mind, I think I'd like to get some rest. This has been a rather tiring day."

"All right," Regina nodded. "I have a couple of things to take care of before I pick up Henry. Good night."

"And to you, Your Majesty."

* * *

"Wait," Belle said, pushing aside the volume she'd been poring over and looking wide-eyed at Emma. "She split his heart?"

"Yeah," Emma nodded.

"And he's… he's all right?"

Emma nodded once more. "He seems to be, at least, for now. Regina's looking for a more permanent solution."

Belle lowered her eyes. "A few weeks ago, I could have offered one," she said sadly. "Split _my_ heart and give half to Rumple. But after everything…"

"Uh, Belle?" Emma leaned forward, her eyes worried. "The whole point of Regina going to check her vault for a match is so that nobody living has to donate half a heart. Ever since Whale found out what my parents did, he's been insisting that they both see him every three months, so he can monitor and make sure that both halves are still working like they should."

"And are they?"

"So far," Emma nodded. "But it hasn't even been six months. I'd be lying if I said I didn't worry every time I saw my dad out of breath after hauling some new do-it-yourself baby furniture up the stairs, or my mother lying down in the middle of the day—usually because she was up all night with my brother. I mean, it's normal stuff. I _know_ it's normal stuff. But it could also be early warning signs of something going wrong and… it's scary."

Belle nodded. "Do they know? The signs, I mean?"

"Yeah, Whale made sure of it before he let Mom leave after Neal was born. And they say they're fine. And I believe them. Mostly. But sometimes, I guess I worry that they could be wrong." She shook her head. "Look, if Regina can't find a match in the vault, I guess looking for a living donor would be Plan B. Only, if magical transplants work the same way normal—I mean, medical—ones do, then honestly? I don't know much about those, but from the little I do know, blood relatives are usually better matches." She heaved a sigh. "As much as I want to help, I'm drawing the line at letting Henry even be tested as a possible donor. I'm sorry."

Belle shook her head. "No, don't be. I-I heard about how he ripped out his own heart to give to Pan in Neverland and… and if not for Regina's preservation spell…"

Emma closed her eyes and nodded. "Yeah. Not to mention the time he bit into a poisoned turnover to prove a point. And, more recently, Zelena almost dropped him out of the sky. So, that's three times he nearly died and two of those times? He was trying to be a hero and didn't think things through. I'm not prepared to let him risk his life again, not even for his grandfather."

"Well," Belle said, "if Regina does need a live donor, I'll still be the first one in line to volunteer."

Emma nodded. "Hey. Belle? In case you're not a match? Don't be too shocked if I'm in that line behind you."

Belle gave her a watery smile. Then she took another breath and sat up straighter. "So," she said with a crispness in her voice that belied the tear glistening in the corner of one eye, "Nimuë."

"Nimuë," Emma nodded. "One more topic to research in this… mess."

"I haven't come across any reference to her yet," Belle admitted. "But Tink keeps adding to the piles," she went on, waving to the stacked volumes on the table beside hers. "Start at the far end. I'll take the nearer and, hopefully, we'll find something before we meet in the middle."

Emma nodded again and managed to suppress an audible groan when she looked at the table and saw how much material there was for them to both go through.

* * *

Rumple didn't expect any further visitors that evening. Whale had come and gone—swearing that he was going to give Regina a piece of his mind.

"Hearts don't work that way!" he'd sputtered. "You can't just go around twisting them in half!"

Rumple had merely shrugged and pointed out that it was hardly the first time that she had, all the while feeling somewhat relieved that he hadn't sounded Whale out on the matter earlier. Now that Regina had successfully split his heart, he was glad that she'd convinced him to allow it. Had Whale argued against the procedure then, it would have bolstered his own fears. And then, where would he be? Probably still debating whether to allow Whale to make an experiment of him or still convinced he'd made peace with the prospect of his imminent demise.

Whale hadn't been mollified. "You can't just… just _do_ stuff like that. It's unnatural!"

"I thought the same thing of open-heart surgery, when first I encountered the concept," Rumple had returned mildly. "But then, I broadened my horizons."

That had been the point when Whale had stormed out, muttering profanities Rumple rather suspected he was meant to overhear.

Over two hours had passed since then and Rumple was settling in for the evening. He didn't truly expect to sleep, but meditation would help him to keep his mind calm, so that it wouldn't spend too long reflecting on what would happen if his condition worsened, or how much longer he could still the Dark whisperings that intruded at odd moments, or how vulnerable he would be should the witch manage to escape her basement confinement. Oh, yes. He definitely needed to meditate this evening.

He was just beginning a simple deep breathing exercise when a knock on his door startled him back to alertness. A moment later, the door began to open and he tensed, raising the mattress so that he was sitting up in bed. He relaxed when he saw the man standing in the doorway. "Booth!" Then the welcoming smile that had already begun to form on his lips froze and faded as he took in the younger man's demeanor. "Are you quite well?" he asked in a far softer tone.

August shook his head and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Not… quite," he murmured, almost staggering over to the chair by Rumple's bed. "I… I think I might be losing my mind…"

* * *

As August finished talking, it was with no small trepidation that he met Rumple's eyes for the first time since he'd sat down. Rumple was regarding him with something that approached sympathy, but there was no hint of pity mingling with the compassion in his brown eyes. There was something in the set of Rumple's jaw, though, to say nothing of his clenched hands atop the flannel bath blanket that made August think that there was also an anger simmering just beneath the surface.

He could guess why.

"I-I'm sorry. You did ask," he said hastily. "I'm not trying to guilt you into helping me; I just… guess I needed to tell someone."

Rumple blinked. "That much is clear," he said dryly. "One wonders why your choice fell on me."

"You asked."

"Yes, but…" He frowned. "You sought me out. Unless you came here for some other purpose."

August shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "You helped me the other night. I thought… Forget it. I don't want to pester you. You're just… easy to talk to."

Rumple felt his jaw gape open and he closed it hurriedly. He couldn't recall the last time someone had said _that_ about him. Even Emma hadn't gone so far after their conversation at the deli on their last afternoon in Manhattan.

"You aren't pestering me," he said, wondering which of August's assertions had shocked him more.

A smile broke on the younger man's face. "Good to know." He shook his head. "But I guess I'll have to book something with Archie, after all."

Rumple seemed to be silently debating something and he didn't respond immediately. Finally, he took a breath. "Or, perhaps, I could be of assistance. There… there is a charm you might consider using that will help to manage those hallucinations."

He caught the younger man's relieved expression, but before he could elaborate, August was already shaking his head. "Magic always has a price," he reminded him.

"Yes," Rumple nodded. "I'm well aware. However, _not_ using magic may, at times, also have a price." He frowned. "Do you object to contracts and agreements on principle, or is it only when I'm the party proposing them?"

Brought up short, August flinched. Then he rubbed his neck absently. "I guess," he said slowly, "the problem with most of your contracts is the fine print. I think it would make things a lot easier if everyone understood the price up front. I mean… Archie, Jiminy, didn't know what that potion would do until after his parents switched it."

"The details, perhaps not," Rumple pointed out. "But I daresay he wasn't expecting its effects to be benign."

"Hiring Emma to find Ashley? For that matter, helping Ashley without spelling out your price at the beginning?" He winced. "Why can't it just be that someone needs help… and they get it?"

Rumple gave him a penetrating look. "I don't think many scenarios fitting that description feature prominently in either of our experiences, do you?"

August winced again. "I… we've been trying to do things differently, this time out. And, at least for me, it's partly because I do appreciate what it's like when it doesn't happen that way."

"Yes, I've noticed your efforts," Rumple admitted, sounding somewhat more subdued. "But not permitting me to return the favor places me in an awkward position. I dislike unpaid debts."

"There's no debt," August insisted.

"So you say. But if I were to take you at your word and treat each of you as I did prior to your coming to fetch me, you'd surely think me ungrateful." He frowned. "You know, I think it's to your advantage to keep me focused on how much I owe you and refuse to allow me the opportunity to wipe the slate clean."

August's automatic denial died on his lips and he took a moment to consider what Rumple was saying. "That was never the intention," he replied finally. "The reason we haven't asked anything of you is because we didn't want you to think that we were just… being nice because we wanted to make you feel obligated to help us down the line. I guess we went too far to the other extreme, though. I'm sorry about that."

Rumple blinked. Then a faint smile graced his lips. "Well. I suppose I can see how the misunderstanding came about. With that in mind," he continued, a more serious note coming into his voice, "I think I'd best see about effecting my release from this place. I placed a protection spell on my house after you left the other morning and it's something only I can lower. The materials I require to fashion that charm are in my basement."

"And the price?" August asked.

Rumple shrugged. "Let's call it a moral obligation. There may come another time when I'll need a favor from you. Should that time come, I'll," his smile turned tentative, "Well. I'll try not to ask something of you that your conscience won't countenance."

There was nothing tentative about August's answering grin.

* * *

Henry had been elated when Emma had asked for his help. Over the last couple of months, he'd spent most of his free time in the Sorcerer's mansion looking for clues about the Author. Regina had relayed August's warning and he was paying attention, but his mom still needed her happy ending.

Oh, he wasn't about to release the Author, not without having at least one of his moms close by to take precautions. He'd decided that almost as soon as he'd found the blank storybooks. At the time, they'd all assumed that the Author and the Sorcerer were one and the same, and Henry wasn't about to set a sorcerer loose in Storybrooke without some sort of check or balance.

After nearly nine weeks, though, his enthusiasm for the task had waned. When he'd brought Emma to Storybrooke, it had taken months for the Curse to break, but there had been indicators that things were moving on the right track all along. The clock over the library had started to move. The mines—and the crickets—had returned. Sheriff Graham had begun to remember his previous life (Henry still felt a pang when he thought about the man, even after all these years). But he'd turned up nothing on the Author beyond that enigmatic page that August had ripped from the book.

Or, at least, the page August said he had ripped from the book and Henry had no reason to doubt him. The art style was the same as that of the other illustrations. When Henry examined the binding, he could see several places where other pages had been ripped away. He'd pulled out some of them himself, back when Regina had truly been the Evil Queen. And he suspected that she'd removed a few other pages on her own, though he'd never asked her about them. Plus, August had sewn the pages of his own story into the book, possibly masking the spot where the Author's page had been.

Still, there was only so long he could persevere without growing frustrated. Even if he _was_ the Truest Believer, that didn't mean he could keep having faith that he'd find the answers he was seeking without _some_ hint that he wasn't following a string of false leads.

So, when Emma had offered him a new project, he'd leaped at the change of pace.

 _Nimuë_. The name sounded vaguely familiar to him. It wasn't in his book. But he thought he might have read about it elsewhere else a long time ago. He frowned, wishing that his phone had internet access; he could have gotten the information in a minute, instead of having to wait until he got home to check.

On the other hand, even if he had read about Nimuë in some other book, he'd read dozens of fairytales before his grandmother had gifted him the real story. If the more conventional tales of Nimuë were as inaccurate as the stories this world told about Snow White, Peter Pan, and Rumpelstiltskin, then refreshing his memory now might be a mistake. Better to see if he could wade in fresh with a more accurate accounting.

And this library was probably the right place to start.

Henry pushed his chair away from the table and walked over to a bookcase on the wall opposite the collections of fairytale books, both blank and completed.

* * *

Rumple was alone once more and he wasn't certain how he felt about it. He had much to ruminate upon, some parts wonderful, others frightening. And some of the wonderful parts _were_ frightening.

He wasn't used to people offering to help him unless they were counting on some sort of generous compensation in return. He wasn't used to people sparing him a thought if they didn't need something from him first.

After spending so much of his early life impoverished, powerless, and weak, an object of scorn and derision, he'd reveled in being treated with fear and respect. He'd become a force to be appeased and reckoned with. And if he was friendless and unloved, well, it had rarely been otherwise, so it was a small price to pay.

Until now.

To be sure, there had been exceptions, but they'd never lasted long. Everyone he'd thought he could rely upon had ultimately abandoned him or betrayed him, if he hadn't pushed them away before they could, knowing the pain would be sharper if they turned from him when he wasn't prepared for it.

He wasn't accustomed to having people struggle to find ways to help him. He wasn't used to having someone wrench her shoulder or get scraped and scratched by rocks and shrubbery while saving his life. Or to having someone else ensure that one who had hurt him in the past would be kept as far from him as was reasonably possible—and to do so as a matter of course, _without_ stressing that he ought to feel grateful for such consideration.

He wasn't used to having people worry about him or extend themselves for him. And he couldn't recall a time when _anyone_ had ever asserted that he was easy to talk to or thanked him for listening to them and not been put out that he hadn't had a solution to offer. Or called him 'friend', when they hadn't really been trying to avoid paying him for aid rendered.

The imp was at it again, trying to convince him that his newfound supporters were only playing a long game, banking on his gratitude when all of this was behind him to exact far greater favors in the future.

 _And that would be their right_ , he flung back, remembering his earlier conversation with Booth. _If I demand payment for services rendered, why shouldn't they?_

The imp was marshalling more arguments, but Rumple realized that he could likely predict what they would be. He'd been living with his Darkness for a very long time and they had become quite familiar with one another as the years had passed. And _that_ was a double-edged blade. The Darkness might know full well how to… press his buttons, but then two could play that game.

 _In fact,_ he added cannily, _there is one debt currently outstanding that will be a genuine_ pleasure _to repay…_

As he opened his mind to the imp, he was rewarded with a merry giggle. "Now you're talking, dearie!" it chortled. "But why stop there…?"

* * *

His hands were sweating as he eased open the door to his room the following morning. It wasn't because of the confrontation he was about to initiate. Well, perhaps he was a bit nervous about it, but only because there was still the slightest possibility that his conclusions were wrong and he was about to make a fool of himself.

No, his trepidation was caused because, for his plan to work, he needed a witness. And he couldn't be sure of how that witness would react when brought face to face with certain harsh realities.

Always assuming that his suspicions were correct. If they weren't, then…

If they weren't, then he'd have one more thing he'd have to live down and perhaps, it was foolish that he was more nervous about being wrong now than he had been about so many other actions and schemes he'd perpetrated in the past. What exactly would they do if he was wrong now? He'd survived cages, slavery, torture, banishment… Was he actually frightened of self-righteousness and smug expressions?

He closed his eyes. No. He was frightened of not being able conceal his embarrassment before people who, most of the time, didn't think him capable of such human weakness. As though immortality granted him some defense against mockery and humiliation. (Magic did, but he wasn't about to turn them all into snails.)

"Mr. Gold?"

He opened his eyes to see Snow regarding him with a worried expression. So. She _was_ guarding the corridor this morning. As he'd half-hoped and half-dreaded.

"Rumpelstiltskin, are you all right?"

He took a deep breath and released it with a self-deprecating smile. "I suppose I'm just feeling somewhat confined here. I thought I'd go for a stroll along the corridors."

"Oh," Snow White smiled back. "Are you okay to do that? I mean…" Her face flushed and she looked away.

Rumple affected a sigh, even as his heart soared. "Well, I haven't been placed on bed rest, if that's what you're asking, dearie. But I suppose it would be prudent to have a companion in case my physical strength is less than I anticipate." He hesitated, taking in the nervous look that had sprung to her face. "Unless you're needed here?"

Snow looked as though she really wanted to refuse, but to her credit, she pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket instead. "Of-of course," she said, smiling again, this time a trifle uneasily. "Just let me call David to take over for me. In case Regina needs something."

Rumple nodded. "Prudent," he allowed. "I think a slower pace would be wise."

 _First part accomplished_ , the imp murmured approvingly in his head. _Now let's see how the next bit plays, shall we?_

* * *

It was nearly twenty minutes before David Nolan arrived. Nearly twenty minutes spent in awkward silence, while Snow cast about trying to find something to say to break the ice and he sat, outwardly calm, on the wooden bench in the corridor and tried to avoid twisting his cane or drumming his fingers.

So much could still go wrong. His suspicions, so obvious the evening before, might still be incorrect. Or, they might be well-founded, but he wouldn't put it past the little gnat to deny them. If it came down to his word against hers, he had little doubt as to which of them Snow would believe.

He didn't have to do this. He could just take his constitutional. If he succeeded in gaining additional trust and goodwill on the part of the Nolans now, it would certainly prove useful down the road, assuming he lived so long. There was no need to extend himself quite so far.

Then he remembered the anguish in Booth's eyes and his jaw set. Booth had been a friend to him when he'd needed one most. And when the crisis had passed, the camaraderie had persisted. And, Rumple reflected, he'd agreed to Booth's terms—as stated—the night before.

_"Why can't it just be that someone needs help… and they get it?"_

And after making such a point of disliking unpaid debts, Rumple was hard-put to justify shirking his duty, now.

"Ready?" Snow asked, interrupting his ruminations. Startled, Rumple looked up to see that David Nolan now stood next to her. Both were smiling uncertainly.

Rumple nodded once and started to rise to his feet. He blinked when he realized that David was extending one bent elbow to assist him. "I can manage," he murmured, waving him off. "But thank you for offering."

"Did you have anywhere particular in mind?" Snow asked. "We could walk about outside, if you like."

Rumple shook his head. "I'd want something a bit more dignified than a robe and gown under my coat before I agreed to _that_ ," he returned, the tartness in his voice offset by his smile. "And since my house possesses numerous deterrents to unauthorized guests, I'm afraid sending someone for a change of clothing isn't going to be feasible at the moment. Let's just walk the corridors for now."

"Oh, of course," Snow nodded, falling into step beside him. "You know," she said slowly, "the hospital might have some other clothes you could borrow. I mean… if you're okay borrowing them," she added.

Rumple saw what she meant. The Dark Curse had given the town a fully-equipped modern hospital. And while medical emergencies were rare in Storybrooke, it was likely that there was some provision built in for those individuals who might be brought in unconscious and in need of emergency surgery. In such cases, doctors might have to cut a patient's clothing away, rather than pull it off of a bloody, broken body and risk further injury. And that was assuming that the clothing was even salvageable. Rumple wasn't used to thinking along those lines. These days, he generally used magic to restore an item in need of mending. And during the curse, he'd engaged the services of an excellent tailor for such matters.

(Rumple smiled at the memory of their first meeting. Mr. Schneider was a diminutive man, not much taller than a dwarf, but he'd had the gumption to insist on his usual rate when Rumple attempted to bargain him down. Finally, the brave little tailor had agreed to knock ten percent off, in exchange for a crock of Widow Lucas's homemade strawberry preserves and a deal had been struck.)

"I may need to inquire after that," he admitted. "Particularly, if Dr. Whale means to release me soon."

"Did he say anything about it?" Snow asked.

Rumple shook his head. "I daresay he'll want to ensure that my heart is performing properly before he does," he said. "I was hoping that demonstrating that I was capable of moving about might help him arrive at that conclusion."

Snow actually snickered at that. "He means well," she hastened to add.

"I don't doubt it."

They continued walking in relative silence, Rumple keeping his eyes and ears open for any sign of the person he needed to confront. He couldn't say that he was looking forward to it, but he supposed that he _was_ looking forward to getting it over with.

* * *

They'd done three circuits of the floor and were halfway through a fourth when he saw her round a corner. She stopped short when she saw them and smiled at Snow, while pointedly ignoring Rumple.

He was tempted to reciprocate her coldness, but he reminded himself forcefully that this was the opportunity he'd been looking for. And before she swept out of earshot, he called after her, "Mother Superior, a word, if you please?"

The Blue Fairy stiffened at the sound of his voice, but she stopped and turned calmly back to face him. "What can I do for you, Dark One?" she asked, her face serene, but her eyes hard.

Rumple was fully aware of Snow standing nervously at his side, wondering what was going on. Well. He couldn't say as he blamed her. And he needed her to be, if not on his side, then at least not solidly against him. So, he ducked his head, smiled, and coaxed a note of humility—though nothing like the cringing obsequiousness that had been his usual demeanor in his peasant days—into his voice. "I… suppose I'd just like to apologize for that bit of unpleasantness I subjected you to, some weeks back. We've had our differences, but had my needs not been great, I doubt I would have taken things as far as I did."

Blue's eyebrows climbed nearly to her hairline. Rumple imagined that she was turning his words this way and that, looking for some insult or ambiguity. Finally, she smiled coldly in return. "Apology accepted," she said in a tone that implied the opposite.

"So, we can put this unpleasantness behind us," Rumple suggested, injecting just a touch more warmth into his own tones, just enough to make it apparent to any impartial observer (though Snow was scarcely that), that he had no interest in prolonging the feud.

Blue sniffed. "Of course. Good doesn't exact retribution." She paused for a beat before adding, "no matter how justifiable such actions might be."

"Of course, of course," Rumple murmured. "I only wondered whether that adage still held true, in light of recent developments."

"To be sure," Blue confirmed. " _We_ don't pretend to have changed, only to lull others into complacency so as to enact some Dark plot."

He forced himself not to rise to her bait. "No, you misunderstand me," he replied, ducking his head almost apologetically. "I was referring to some difficulties that Mr. Booth has been encountering recently."

The fairy blinked. But Rumple had caught the faint flush of color on her ivory cheeks, the slight guilty twitch. And even as he realized that she'd confirmed his suspicion, he felt a twinge of pain. Betrayal was a difficult thing to live with and, for a moment, he considered changing tacks, if only to spare August the revelation that was to come.

"Pardon?" Snow spoke up.

He could have suggested that she move off and afford them some privacy, even now, but for once, his Darker and Lighter aspects were in near-perfect harmony. Instead, he turned to her and said heavily, "Our Mr. Booth has had a difficult past. It's been surfacing recently, causing him no small distress."

The look he turned on Blue was deceptively mild. "You know some of the occurrences to which I refer, I believe."

"I do," Blue confirmed sadly. "While Pinocchio has always had a good heart, he's also lacked the discernment to know when he was being led astray. Poor choices have consequences. As well you know, Dark One."

"Yes, yes, of course, dearie," Rumple nodded. "Believe what you will, but even I've suffered pangs of conscience on occasion." His gaze hardened. "But it's not August's conscience that's tormenting him now… is it?"

Blue's flinch told him all he needed to know. But did it convey enough to anyone else?

And then, Snow asked in a voice that was almost _too_ steady, "Blue? What is he talking about?"

"I'd like to know, too," a new voice spoke up from behind them and they realized that August and David had come upon them during their conversation.

Rumple fought to keep his face expressionless. If the others thought he was getting any pleasure out of this, even at this juncture, they were likely to close ranks against him. And truthfully, though he'd been waiting a long time for the little gnat to show her true colors, he knew that while Booth deserved to know the truth, he didn't deserve the hurt that said truth would bring.

"Blue?" David asked in a hard voice.

The fairy lifted her chin defiantly and locked eyes on August. "I'd feared that you were sliding back into your old ways, Pinocchio. The spell that made you human retains its power only so long as you remain selfless, brave, and true. You lost your way once, but earned a second chance. Unfortunately, in this realm, magic is more limited. Should that spell founder again, there can be no further recasting. I know how hard you've fought to stay on the correct path. And I know what your failure would do to your father. And so, I did what I could to prevent that occurrence."

August's hands were trembling and Rumple watched as he jammed them into his jacket pockets. "Explain," the puppet—no, the young man—ordered.

There was sorrow in Blue's voice, but even at this juncture, Rumple was hard-put to see any hint of regret in her demeanor. "Far wiser souls than yours have been corrupted by the Dark One," she complied. "I'd hoped a gentle warning would be enough to get you to see the danger, but when you failed to heed it, I thought to remind you of other times when you were misguided by poor judgment and poorer companions. I know those memories are painful for you and I regret the necessity of—"

"No," August cut her off. "This wasn't necessary. It—" Abruptly he spun on his heel and took off at a fast clip, evading David's hand, as the prince tried to hold him back.

"Booth!" Rumple exclaimed, trotting after him as quickly as he could with the cane.

Snow and David looked first at one another and then at Blue. Snow exhaled noisily. "Would you," she turned to her husband, "give me a moment with her? I'll catch up."

David nodded, and touched his wife's shoulder before he went after the other two men. Snow drew her shoulders back and raised her chin with uncharacteristic imperiousness. "This isn't over," she said, her green eyes as cold as her name. "This is not even close to over."

Blue regarded her sadly. "I did what I thought was best. And while I wish that my actions had not caused him pain, I will stand by them."

"And that," Snow rejoined, "is the very thing that takes those actions from tragic to _monstrous_." There was more she could have said, but she realized that her eyes were burning and that there was a hard lump in her throat, and that—Heaven help her—her words didn't just condemn what Blue had done to August, but what she and David had done to Maleficent's child, and if she stayed here facing the fairy for even a moment longer, she was going to break down. And so, she shook her head, snapped her jaw shut, and took off at a run after David and the others, leaving the fairy and her self-righteous rationalizations far behind.

* * *

There was a solarium tucked away at the end of a side corridor. Rumple had walked past it several times this morning, and it was there that he found August now, looking very much as he had that other evening in the bar. Except that Rumple rather suspected that this time, the younger man wouldn't have been sitting with an untouched shot glass on the table before him.

"I hadn't expected you to arrive when you did," he said softly, taking a seat on the leather sofa beside August. "I wasn't entirely sure my suspicions were correct until the fairy confirmed them."

August shook his head. "I guess it's better knowing. Sort of." He smiled bitterly. "At least I know I'm not actually losing my mind."

"That's true enough," Rumple nodded. He let out a heavy sigh. "I'm aware that the two of you were close. I'll make no attempt to hide my own feelings toward her, but I did mean to spare you that pain. Fate had other ideas."

August started to respond, but a whispered conversation at the entrance to the solarium caught both their attentions. Snow and David were there, in seeming argument with Blue. The Charmings were blocking the doorway and looking furious. Blue seemed to have lost a measure of the smug serenity she'd exhibited just a short while ago, but she was still calm and composed. Finally, the two moved aside and the fairy approached.

Rumple half-rose, an unspoken warning in his icy brown eyes. "If you've come here to—"

"I've come to undo what was done, Dark One," the fairy said stiffly. "If August is determined on his course, then the safeguard I enacted is pointless." Her expression softened. "I never did mean to hurt you, Pinocchio. Only to try to make you see the error of your ways."

"Such a pity there's no spell I could cast that would make you see yours," Rumple murmured.

Blue sucked in her breath. "Oh," she said, as two bright spots of color appeared on her cheekbones. Then she shook her head. "You have no idea the errors I regret, Dark One," she said, even as one hand tenderly brushed the hair from August's forehead.

It was a gesture Rumple remembered well from the few happy childhood memories he'd had. Well. The memories weren't entirely happy; the two spinners he'd called his aunts hadn't been much for displays of affection. But at times of illness or distress, Aunt Hulda and Aunt Holle had been there to soothe him and push a wayward lock of hair away, just so. And as the fairy leaned closer, her magic leaping from her fingers to August's brow, he realized that the expression on her face was the same that had graced Aunt Hulda's and he turned away, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion that memory could still dredge up, and furious that it was Blue who had provoked that recollection.

"Is Blue here?" another nun in the skirt, sweater, blouse, and crucifix that were the uniform of the order of the Sisters of Saint Meissa called as she came down the hallway at a run. "There's an emergency on the third floor; Dr. Whale is asking for you."

"I'll be there directly," Blue replied without turning around.

The fairy drew closer. "Is that the boy, then?" she asked. "The one you—"

Rumple didn't hear the rest of her question. He knew that voice. Centuries seemed to roll away as realization slammed into him with the force of a command from his dagger. He looked wildly from one fairy to the other and whispered, horrified, _"Aunt Hulda? Aunt Holle?"_


	44. Chapter Forty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some dialogue taken from S3E8, "Think Lovely Thoughts". Reference is made to events and information shown in S6E19, "The Black Fairy". The "portents" are my own invention. Think 'magical artifact that can grant the user a glimpse of an individual's destiny'. Nowhere near as extensive as Rumple's ability to see the future, but a bit more clear than his gift, despite its limited application. Scrying allows someone to see a glimpse of the present or recent past and offers a much clearer picture.

**Chapter Forty-Four**

Rumple desperately wanted to be wrong. He'd never questioned that the two women who'd given him what had, for a long time, been the only love and safety he'd known, had died in a pestilence when he was a boy of eleven. He didn't want to question it now. He would have preferred to believe that a voice and a gesture had simply dragged up some old recollections, not unlike what Blue's spell must have done to Booth.

But now that he _was_ questioning, he was seeing that too much of what he'd accepted at face value as a boy just didn't add up.

Malcolm's reputation in Thornbrook was well-known and no respectable person would have had anything to do with him. And while, perhaps, someone might have taken pity on his child, Rumple knew what form that 'pity' would almost certainly have taken.

There was always a corner of the town square that, while not precisely a _slave_ market, bore some of the characteristics. There, children and youths would cluster hoping to attract the interest of some artisan or crafter who would take on their indentures and bind them as apprentices. Some were orphans. Others, particularly the very young, would be accompanied by their parents—too poor to pay the apprenticeship premiums that would have allowed the contract to be struck in privacy and with dignity, too desperate to provide for their children to shop around to find the best teacher, but still more canny about contracts than a child scarcely out of swaddling clothes would be. And then there were those youngsters who, while not precisely orphans, were on their own because their parents either could not or would not look after them.

Apprenticeships meant room and board for at least five years, possibly ten or more, plus the promise of a respectable trade. By the time Rumple turned eight, he was already expecting Malcolm to send him to that corner of the square before much longer. The card sharks and rowdies in the bars were becoming inured to his pleas for his father's well-being, after all. He was getting older, and no longer as sweet and appealing as he had been at five or six. Soon the gamblers and barflies would stop listening altogether when Rumple entreated them not to beat Malcolm—or worse—when they caught him cheating at dice or cards. Or so Malcolm had informed him repeatedly, making it sound as if growing up was a personal failing on Rumple's part.

Instead of the hiring market, Malcolm had brought him to Aunt Hulda and Aunt Holle and they'd taken him in as though it was the most natural thing to do. There had been no contract. They'd offered to teach him to spin, but they hadn't pushed matters until he'd been living with them for nearly two months, when he'd expressed an interest of his own in the craft. For two older women, who certainly hadn't been well-to-do, to take in a boy who was no relation… Rumple had never realized just how odd the situation had been.

And even if they'd been moved to compassion for his situation, even if they'd been old friends of Malcolm, even if they'd been his aunts in truth and not simply called so, it still couldn't explain…

_Where'd you get that? Do you know how much money a bean like that would fetch?_

He hadn't then, but he'd had occasion to learn. And even when magic beans hadn't been as rare as they'd become around the time when the Dark Curse was cast, they'd hardly been commonplace and they'd never been cheap. So, where would two middle-aged spinners in a small town have gotten their hands on such a valuable item? And why would they have handed it over to boy not quite nine years old so that he could forge a new life?

Unless…

He looked from one fairy to the other, his expression hardening. "It was you," he accused in a harsh whisper. "Both of you. Wasn't it?"

The second fairy seemed to wilt slightly. "You weren't meant to know," she said with a tremor in her voice. "You weren't ever meant to know."

Rumple was shaking with emotion, but there was no hint of it in his next words. "Well, I think you'd best forget what I was _meant_ to discover and tell me the rest now, dearies," he said evenly. "Don't you?"

* * *

_Communication between realms was a tricky matter, but not impossible. Not between two realms of great magic, and not between two fairies. All the same, it had been over eight years since Blue had last heard from Tiger Lily, over eight years since the latter had surrendered wand and wings and exiled herself to Neverland. Blue understood her reasons, even as she thought that the young godmother had been rather too hard on herself. Some people, unfortunately, were just beyond saving and tragic though it was, there was nothing else for it but to move on and hope that one's next charge turned out for the better._

_She was pleasantly surprised to see her protégé's familiar face appear in her scrying glass and greeted her warmly. "I've thought of you often," she added._

_Tiger Lily smiled sadly. "And I, you. Neverland is a beautiful place, but so… lonely." She sighed. "Children visit in their dreams and I do my best to make those dreams pleasant ones, but…" She closed her eyes, though not before Blue noted the pain that emanated from them. "Blue, please tell me. How fares Fiona's child?"_

_"The child?" Blue repeated blankly. "I-I suppose he's well enough. His father seemed a good man and hard-working; I'm sure they're both fine." In truth, even though she'd meant to go back after a time to see how father and son were faring, she'd barely spared a thought for the baby since Fiona's shears had cut him from his destiny. There were so many children and so few fairies. They simply could not watch over as many young souls as they might otherwise wish. Decisions had to be made and fairies could only be assigned to those mortals destined for greatness. Thanks to those infernal shears, Rumpelstiltskin would not—could not—be one of them now._

_"On the night that the child was born," Tiger Lily said heavily, "I would have agreed with you. But on the night that we told him that his wife was dead, I saw something in his eyes that…" She sucked in her breath._

_"The children who come here," she said haltingly, "their minds and hearts are open while they sleep and they say things in Neverland that I'm near certain they scarcely dare to think while they're awake. So many lost, so many lonely, so many with parents whose eyes have that same hardness to them that Malcolm's did on the night he named his son."_

_Blue felt a faint pricking of conscience. She really should have looked in on Malcolm and his son before this. She'd meant to. But there were so many duties prevailing on her time. She didn't just train and oversee godmothers. There were the novice fairies to teach, there was dust to collect and store properly, there were records and convocations, prophecies and predictions—all of which required her attention._

_And the boy was probably fine._

_"Blue, the child is scarcely to blame for his mother's actions. I'm still his godmother. Please, in my absence, will you do me this one favor and look in on him? If only to set my mind at rest?"_

_She had a myriad of other tasks to attend to. And really, this was Tiger Lily's job. But then, travel between realms was even more sporadic than communication. And Tiger Lily had lost her magic when she'd surrendered her wand. It_ wasn't _the child's fault his mother had cleft him from his destiny. And if Tiger Lily couldn't fulfill her responsibility, then Blue allowed she could spare the time to ensure that all was well. She could do that much for the disciple who had once shown such promise, before she'd allowed her guilt to rule her common sense._

_"Of course," she said warmly. "I'll scry for him directly."_

_Tiger Lily's thanks were unnecessary, but no less appreciated._

* * *

_Blue pulled away from her scrying glass her gaze steely and her expression set. She didn't know much about children once they grew out of infanthood—one of the reasons she trained godmothers but seldom took on a charge of her own. She knew an unhappy situation when she saw one though._

_Malcolm was an indifferent parent, that much was clear. Half the time, he and his boy—a frail nervous wisp of a child—slept in unlocked barns or sheds, unbeknownst to their owners, the other half, in the gutters or on the side of the road. And some nights—when farmer or merchant discovered that they had unwanted lodgers and turned them out of doors—they did both. Occasionally, Malcolm would find work, but it never lasted and he quickly gambled away his meager earnings._

_The boy was learning to be both a beggar and a thief and Blue supposed she could understand why. Not only was the child half-starved and desperate, he was also coming to realize that it was mainly through his own efforts that he and his father were able to eat at least somewhat regularly. And it didn't appear as though Malcolm was imparting any sort of moral code to his son. The only instructions Blue had heard him issue had been such orders as, "Be quiet, son."_

_"Don't pester me when I'm in the middle of a game."_

_"Go to sleep."_

_"Go find us something to eat."_

_The child was obedient, if nothing else. But this was no kind of life for him._

_Blue considered. At present, there was no experienced godmother available to assign to the boy. All who were in the vicinity were already overseeing more children than they should be. And as for those further afield, they couldn't very well desert their existing charges for days on end to remain in Thornbrook indefinitely. Because it was very clear to her that Rumpelstiltskin's needs wouldn't be met with a one-time gift or enchantment. He was going to need to make a life away from his father and for that, he'd need a useful trade to make his way. He'd need the confidence both to believe in himself, and to want a life away from a ne'er-do-well parent. In short, it would require more than occasional visits. The boy would need fostering. And thanks to his father's well-earned reputation, Blue doubted that any suitable family in the town would be willing to look after the boy._

_And then, she recalled that among the senior acolytes, those who were nearly ready for their life assignments, there was one fairy who might do rather nicely. This student hailed from one of the elder families—a house that still maintained its ancestral holding, even though in recent centuries, the human villages had come to encroach on its boundaries._

_Strictly speaking, Vermillion wasn't ready for such an assignment. Most fairy godmothers served out an apprenticeship with a more senior fairy before being assigned children of their own. But this fairy had two things in her favor._

_First, having lived in close proximity to humans, she'd have a clearer idea of how their societies functioned—a knowledge that Blue did not herself possess. For while Blue had served as godmother to a few mortal children over the years, she'd never tried to live among them and wasn't entirely sure she'd know how to blend in._

_And second, Blue had read the portents and knew that close to two centuries from now, it would fall to this fairy to live as a mortal for more than a decade and a half. Rumpelstiltskin's assignment shouldn't take nearly that long, but it would be good practice. Perhaps, Blue reflected, it would be better if the two of them took on this task. Blue would expand her knowledge of human children and be on-hand to assist with any difficult situations as they arose. And her protégé would gain some invaluable experience in preparation for that future assignment._

_She ran her fingertips along the carved surface of her wooden scrying frame and smiled when the young acolyte's face appeared in the glass. She preferred a different name, Blue recalled now, one that hearkened more to the vegetable than the mineral. Normally, Blue frowned on such innovation, but this would be a longer assignment than usual and one which would put Blue and the novice in close quarters. Best to start things off on the right foot. "Report to me after your dinner, Flora," she said, her smile gentle. "An opportunity has emerged for which I believe you to be well-suited…"_

* * *

_Flora was more than enthusiastic, though she was quick to point out that living in proximity to humans was scarcely like interacting with them. She'd seldom had occasion to speak with the villagers near her ancestral home. "When I did," she added, "I disguised myself."_

_"Of course," Blue nodded. "Wings and wands attract too much attention."_

_"Well, that too, yes," Flora smiled. "But you understand that mortal cultures can differ widely from region to region and sometimes from village to village." She smoothed her gown meaningfully. "Five generations of fairies have worn this dress," she said. "And while it's needed some alterations for fit, the style hasn't changed a jot in all that time. Mortal fashions change with the season and while the changes can be small, the people take note. Wear last year's colors and you're just considered poor or out of step with the times. Wear last century's sleeves and they'll edge away as though they think you half-mad."_

_"Oh, my," Blue replied, eyes wide._

_Flora nodded. "One thing I have noticed is that their elderly can be permitted certain slips and eccentricities that would arouse more scrutiny in their youths. As mortals age, some become rather intractable in their ways. On occasion they pontificate on how things were done in their childhood and insist that those old ways are better."_

_Blue raised an eyebrow. "That hardly sounds negative," she said. Fairy culture was steeped in tradition and respect for the older ways._

_Flora hadn't finished. "Well, yes. But sometimes," she added, "they're less than reasonable about it. Or—and this isn't always the case, but it happens often enough to pass without comment or concern—they can be a bit vague and talk of long-dead people as though they were still living. And you know," she added, "that sometimes it can be so hard for us to keep track of which ruler is sitting on any given throne these days, or whether the current war is against the ogres, the trolls, or the neighboring kingdom—which might have been absorbed by another neighbor some years back and now has a different name. It's easy enough for us to make the sort of slips that those who suffer that infirmity might also fall victim to."_

_"Goodness," Blue breathed. "I truly had no idea."_

_"Oh, yes, Blue," Flora nodded once more. "So with that consideration in mind, I think it would be best if we were to take on the seemings of old women."_

_"Not too old, I hope," Blue remarked, beginning to realize that living among mortals would entail far more care than she'd believed. "Humans become more infirm physically with age, too, don't they? A glamor spell is one thing, but I'm not confident I can feign chronic illness or injury for any length of time. Or weakness," she added._

_Flora paused. "Well, they don't all become dodderers with their first wrinkle or gray hair," she murmured. "A good many don't at all. But enough do that I thought…" Her voice trailed off as she took in Blue's expression. She thought for a moment longer and then she smiled. "Middle age will do, I suppose," she suggested. "We'll need to be more careful about what we say and how we act. Stick to ourselves, you understand, apart from the boy. But I suppose two unmarried reclusive spinners… spinners?" she repeated, casting inquiring eyes at her teacher._

_Blue nodded. "I cast the portents earlier. The boy has a natural talent for the craft; he'll just want the proper instruction to bring it out."_

_"Spinners, then," Flora said. "Yes, I think we might get by. If we're careful and don't forget ourselves too far. I still shouldn't think we'd blend in properly, but our differences will likely be written off as eccentricities, rather than something more... suspicious."_

_"It won't be forever," Blue said. "Just until the boy can strike out on his own. And then, you can complete your training."_

_"Yes," Flora nodded with a smile. "And perhaps it'll be a good thing for me to practice at the wheel now if, as you say, I'm to live as a peasant woman again in the future. Spinning ought to be a useful skill to occupy myself with then as well, should I need something to sell or barter for supplies."_

_Blue shook her head. "Unfortunately," she informed her student, "from the small glimpse that I was able to glean about_ that _assignment from the portents, it doesn't seem likely you'll so much as be touching a spindle when that time arrives…"_

* * *

_Flora proved more adept about setting up than Blue could have dreamed. It took her two days to locate a modest cottage on a respectable street and negotiate an appropriate rent. Blue would have used magic to furnish it, had Flora not pointed out that their neighbors would mark the absence of a carter bringing in their possessions. And that they really ought to pay the locals some custom._

_"It's one thing to keep to ourselves, it's another to close ourselves off completely," the younger fairy pointed out. "We don't want the boy to go from being shunned for who his father is to being shunned for living with two mysterious women who appeared out of nowhere, have nothing to do with anyone, and almost never step out their front doors."_

_"Just don't get too comfortable," Blue smiled tolerantly. "We can't stay indefinitely. Just long enough to give the boy his best chance at a good life. Once he knows a trade and can support himself, we'll have to move on."_

_"Oh, I know," Flora nodded back. "But there's no harm in enjoying ourselves while we're here."_

_Blue surveyed the front room critically and set a basket of yarn before one of the spinning wheels. "I think that table will do better on the rug," she said aloud._

_"It will. Though I'd move it away before dining; children can be rather messy eaters."_

_"Well, this one will learn to tidy up after himself," Blue said serenely. She smiled with satisfaction at the shelves of bobbins and spindles._

_"Blue?" Flora ventured, "You won't be too severe? You showed me the life the boy's been living. He'll need structure, but after the sort of freedom he's had…" She quailed slightly under the senior fairy's steely gaze. "I only mean that we don't want him to compare his life with us to his life with his father and find ourselves wanting."_

_Blue sighed. "I'll follow your lead in the matter, so long as you're confident in your abilities." She smiled brightly. "Finish unpacking. I'll see if I can find a moment to talk with Malcolm away from his son."_

_"How will you convince him to leave the boy with us?"_

_Blue's smile turned grim. "I don't anticipate that being a problem…"_

* * *

Blue knew that there was no point in divulging everything now. No point in letting the Dark One know that he would have been the savior had his mother not taken drastic measures. No point in bringing up Tiger Lily, from whom she'd heard never a word in nearly two centuries. No point in describing the lengths to which she and Flora had gone, the sacrifices they'd made to give him a better life—for all the good that had done.

She took a deep breath. "You had a fairy godmother once," she said simply. "She wanted you to have your best chance."

Rumple started angrily at that. "My best chance?" he repeated derisively. "Is that what you call it?"

"We don't all see the future, Dark One," Blue retorted primly. "Certainly not to the same extent that you do." In her experience, the portents were often vague or silent and could not be relied upon regularly. And, in any event, they had remained behind in the Enchanted Forest when the curse had transported everyone to this realm.

"What are you doing?" Snow whispered to her husband, seeing that he had his phone out and open.

"Texting Emma," David whispered back. "Telling her," he jerked his head meaningfully in Rumpelstiltskin's direction, "that it might be a good idea for her to get back here as soon as she can. Because unless I miss my guess, things are about to get intense and she might be able to defuse some of the hostility before Gold… does something."

Snow nodded, just as Rumple squared his shoulders and looked once more from Blue to Flora. "Very well," he almost sneered. "Tell me more about this… best chance."

* * *

_It didn't take much to persuade Malcolm to let them take the boy off of his hands. He initially laughed at the thought that anyone might be interested in the child. Then a speculative gleam appeared in his eyes and he asked how much they were willing to pay._

_Blue was quietly horrified by the turn the conversation was taking. Any qualms she'd had about separating the child from his only blood relation vanished. She pointed out icily that she and her sister were willing to take on full financial responsibility for the boy. Malcolm wasn't overly impressed by the offer, but he changed his tune rather quickly when Blue thought to ask him how much he was currently spending on food for two._

_"His appetite is growing a bit," the card-shark allowed. "Probably eat you out of house and home before you can get much use out of him." He hesitated. "How do I know you won't change your mind and send him back to me?"_

_Blue peered down her nose at him. "I give you my word. I shan't break it."_

_Malcolm spat in his hand and held it out to her. "It's a deal. I'll bring the boy 'round on the morrow."_

_She did her best to hide her disgust as she clasped the extended appendage._

* * *

_"Do you understand this at all?" Blue demanded of Flora on the following evening, long after an exhausted and frightened little boy had cried himself to sleep on her shoulder and she'd tucked him gently into bed. "He knows the sort of man his father is. He must recognize that the life he's to lead now will be so much better than the one he's had hitherto. And yet…" She gestured toward the wall that their room shared with the second, smaller bedroom._

_Flora sighed. "You need to remember that mortals aren't born self-sufficient," she explained. "The bonds between parent and child are usually far stronger than that between pupil and mentor, even when the relationship itself is less than ideal. In time, perhaps he will come to see for himself how much better off he is. But if not, then at least if he chooses his old life, he'll see he has more options than just… following in his father's footsteps."_

_Blue mulled that over. "Time. Mortals have so little of it, yet act as though their lifespans will far exceed ours."_

_"You… really don't have a lot of experience with them, do you?" Flora asked with some amusement and more boldness than she generally exhibited._

_Blue wasn't offended. "It's that obvious," she replied, phrasing it as a statement, not a question._

_"I'm afraid so. Well. In this, I suppose you aren't much different from mortal parents. With their first child, they generally learn as they go."_

_Blue picked up a drop spindle with a leader thread already attached and a rover of wool and absently began feeding the wool to the leader. "I imagine," she said slowly, "that at the very least, I can't do worse than his father already has…"_

* * *

_The portents hadn't lied. Rumple had a genuine talent for spinning and Blue smiled to see the child's very real excitement when he produced his first cop of yarn._

_"I didn't think I had any talent," Rumple said wonderingly, with a hope in his eyes that warmed the senior fairy's heart._

_"Oof, more than talent," she rejoined. "A gift!"_

_Flora nodded agreement. "You could apprentice with anyone in the land."_

_Rumple smiled. "If I can make money," he said slowly, "then my father and I can be together."_

_Blue and Flora exchanged a quick look over the boy's head. In the matter human nature, at least, the student outshone the teacher. No matter how poor Malcolm's disposition, parenting skills, or morals, the boy still wanted to be with him. And if he was, then his potential would be wasted. Blue had the man's measure and she knew what would happen._

_Scenario One: Malcolm would be overjoyed at Rumple's earning potential and they would be well-off for a time. But spinning wheels cost money, as did the wool to work them. Processing the wool took time. And Malcolm would be unlikely to put aside any earnings for fresh supplies. He didn't have a regular roof over their heads now. He was unlikely to find lodgings where they could keep a spinning wheel, even if they could afford to buy one. For a moment, Blue wondered whether it might not have been wiser to teach the boy with a drop spindle instead of a wheel, but then she realized that if the tools of Rumple's new trade were more portable, it would only delay the inevitable. Eventually, Malcolm's debts would outstrip anything Rumple might earn. And then? Well, if he had any sense or consideration for his son, he'd take the boy to be apprenticed—finally—as he should have done earlier. But Blue suspected that it was likelier he'd keep Rumple with him till the end, hoping to squeeze the last copper of his earnings. Eventually, they would both be indentured until his Malcolm's debts were paid. Flora had told Blue how such things often worked with unscrupulous masters: indentured laborers needed to repay, not only the debts that had brought them to their sorry state, but also the expenses that their masters incurred for their upkeep. They would need to earn enough to pay for the food they ate, the lodgings where they slept, the tools for their work, the clothes they wore… even the matches they used to light their cookfires would be added to the bill. Once the indentures were signed, neither father nor son would ever be free._

_Scenario two: Malcolm would take his son to the hiring corner or even make the rounds to find a crafter willing to apprentice the lad. Apprenticeships were of two sorts: either the apprentice paid a premium for the opportunity, or the crafter paid—either a single, often modest, sum up-front to the apprentice or guardian, or a monthly stipend to the apprentice, or a large sum at the end of the apprenticeship meant to help set up a new crafter in business. Malcolm would hardly be able to pay the premium. And with his mounting debts to individuals both savory and unsavory, he would take the modest sum up-front and Rumple would serve out a number of years with his new master and leave at the end of them, possibly with nothing to show but the clothes on his back._

_Scenario three: Malcolm would bind his son over, not to a master crafter, but to one of his creditors. The boy would work off his father's debt doing whatever labor his new master deemed necessary. Blue had seen such children in the streets during her occasional forays to the shops and markets. The urchins could be seen drudging away at all hours, often with bruised or scarred flesh. And Flora had told her that winters could be particularly unkind, as warm clothing might only be provided if the worker agreed to have the cost added to the amounts already owed._

_"It's disgraceful, that's what!" the younger fairy had related. "Why, in one of the villages near my home, there was a girl froze to death selling matches. Matches!" she repeated. "It got so cold that night she lit them one by one to try to keep herself warm, but with no fuel to feed the flames…" The anguish on her face was real. "And when her body was found the next day over the pile of charred matchsticks, her master just added their cost to the debt and presented the bill to the girl's family at her funeral!"_

_"That won't happen to Rumple," Blue had reassured her, keeping a tight lid on her horror at the tale. "I'll do what I must to keep him from his father."_

_"But to separate father and child…"_

_"Will give this child his best chance." Blue's voice was firm. "I've heeded your counsel in all matters to this point. I ask you now to heed mine."_

_"Of-of course, Hulda," Flora said, using the name that Blue had taken when they'd taken up lodgings here. "But… but the boy is so young, yet. He may not be ready."_

_"He'll learn to be," Blue replied. "He's quick-witted and talented. If he needs to grow up a bit faster than he'd like, then that's what he'll need to do." She sighed. "The stars know human lives are short enough already without wasting extra time on procrastination. We can't stay here forever, Holle. Our lives may not be fleeting, but our leisure time is. There are great things happening in the world and we need to prepare for them."_

_Those words were uppermost in both fairies' minds when Blue gently but firmly informed Rumple that his father wasn't coming back. That his father was, at this very moment, down at the pub with his cronies, looking for someone to advance him the funds for another cup of ale. (It was only a guess, but it was an educated one.)_

_"If you are to have a happy life," she told him, pulling out one of the few portal beans she had in her possession, "you must go somewhere where your father's name cannot follow you…"_

* * *

_Rumple left the next morning. Blue knew she'd miss him, but it was for the best._

_"We're moving on, then?" Flora asked._

_Blue shook her head with some embarrassment. "The order from the weaver in the next street for three gross skeins of worsted wool needs to be filled first. I'd thought our business would take longer, or I'd never have signed that contract, but now that we've promised, I suppose we'll need to remain long enough to hold up our end of the deal."_

_"You could…" Flora gestured with her hand as though waving a wand._

_Blue's embarrassment gave way to a stern look. "All small enchantments are temporary. Need I remind you of the emperor of the marble headlands who purchased cloth woven by a prince of the pixie-folk?"_

_Flora lowered her eyes, taking care not to allow a smile to crack her contrite visage. The emperor in question had worn his fine new robes—guaranteed to grant the wearer the insight to divine the fittest candidate for any task—during a grand progress through his lands. And before he'd traversed even a quarter of the route, he'd encountered a noble who, fearing for his post, had purchased a charm to dispel any magical working. When the enchantment had failed, the emperor had discovered to his humiliation that the spell hadn't merely been added to the fabric; it had_ been _the fabric. And when the magic evaporated, so had every thread on his illustrious person. "Oh, dear," she replied. "So then…"_

_"We do the task properly," Blue nodded. "It shouldn't take more than a few weeks if we both work at it. At least, I hope not; I daresay we've less-mundane work piling up at home in our absence."_

_"Blue?" Flora asked. "Where do you imagine Rumpelstiltskin is now?"_

_Blue smiled beatifically. "I really couldn't say. But I'm sure he's happy, wherever he is…"_

* * *

_Three weeks later, a tearful little boy knocked on their cottage door and collapsed in their arms. They soothed him and put him to bed, promising that they would spin later. It seemed to calm Rumple, for the child quickly fell into exhausted slumber. Blue hesitated only a moment before adding a pinch of dust to the hearth fire._

_"Only enough to give him restful sleep," she smiled. "And ensure he doesn't wake for the next hour or so."_

_Flora nodded. "What shall we do?"_

_"I'm going to consult with Tiger Lily," Blue sighed. "She may have some advice. Or, perhaps, I can persuade her to return; Rumpelstiltskin is her godchild, after all. And while he's a good-hearted lad, we can't tie ourselves down indefinitely."_

_"You don't think," Flora began worriedly, "he'll not see this as one more abandonment? He never knew his mother. His father has now left him twice. If we leave as well…"_

_Blue nodded. "I'm afraid it can't be helped. Our role is to lend a hand where needed, but we simply can't devote ourselves to one mortal's care indefinitely. I'll only be a short while," she added, retreating to the root cellar where she had stored her scrying mirror._

* * *

Emma sucked in her breath and glowered at the screen on her phone. Then she practically stabbed her touch-pad to text back a reply.

"Trouble?" Belle asked, looking up from the stack of books.

Emma hesitated a fraction of a second too long and the librarian's face fell. She was starting to get used to being shut out where her husband was concerned, but it still pained her. And something about the expression on the sheriff's face was downright scary. "It's about Rumple, isn't it?" Belle demanded, half-rising from her chair. "What is it, what's wrong?"

Emma was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, she said, "I'm not sure what's worse: the story my dad's texting me as we speak, or the fact that Gold isn't hearing it in private. I… I didn't know most of this. Some of it was in the book August loaned me; the one—"

"I know which one," Belle interrupted. "Just… just tell me."

"Okay," Emma nodded. "How much has he already told you about his childhood?"

Belle debated with herself for a moment. There were some parts of what Rumple had disclosed that she knew he'd want kept private. "Some," she said. "I… I don't know if it's my place to disclose it, but... some."

Emma nodded again. "Yeah. See, that's one difference between you and me… and Blue."

"Blue?" Belle repeated. "What has she got to do with this?"

"A lot," Emma said heavily. "Both now and in the past. My point is, if you or I knew something that… that wasn't anybody's business but his; I'm not talking about stuff that would pose a threat to the town or neutralize it, I mean… personal stuff, even if we had to talk about it with him, I think we'd both do it… privately."

"Well, yes," Belle said as though it was obvious. "Why? Are you saying Blue… didn't?"

"Try 'isn't'," Emma snapped. "Okay. I'll just… In the book August loaned me, it didn't mention anything about Pan, by the way. Not by name. But it does kind of go a little bit into how he was a lousy dad. And how when Gold was a kid, Pan—he went by 'Malcolm' back then—left Gold with a couple of women who taught him how to spin."

Belle nodded. "He told me about them," she said. "It was about the only happy part of his childhood he could remember. Not even three years," she lamented. "And then, they died in some sickness and he was alone again."

"That's what the book said, too," Emma nodded. "But according to what my dad's texting, that doesn't exactly cover the whole story…"

As she relayed what she'd just learned, Belle's eyes widened and one hand flew to the librarian's mouth. "So, everything he believed was a lie," she said.

Emma gave her a tight-lipped nod.

"And Blue and… and this other fairy Flora just… left him?"

Emma's phone buzzed again and she pulled up the latest message. "Dad's just getting to that part," she said tersely. "Here. Let me see if I can understand his shorthand…"

Belle shook her head. "No, you'd better head over there now. He," she lowered her eyes. "He's going to need someone afterwards and... and I wish it could be me," she said heavily. When she looked up at Emma again, though, her eyes were clear. "But if it can't be me right now, it needs to be you."

"I..." Emma nodded. "I'm on it. You know I'm trying to stay out of what's going on between the two of you, right? I'm not trying to come between—"

Belle nodded back with a sad smile. "I know. He and I both managed to stuff this up on our own. But that's not important right now. Go; I'll keep researching here."

Emma touched Belle's shoulder briefly. Then she grabbed her coat and nearly raced up the stone steps to the ground floor.

* * *

_She couldn't reach Tiger Lily. Not on that evening, nor on any of the long days that followed. After a month, she decided to risk casting an actual spell, rather than relying on an enchanted item for communication._

_The spell came hurtling back at her so violently that she recoiled in her chair, stunned at the malevolence behind the counter-force. What was happening in Neverland? How—?_

_With mounting dread she made her way up the cellar steps to where the boy sat spinning. At any other time, Blue would have smiled with satisfaction. The thread was strong and even with no flaw or weakness in the work. But now, concern for her friend weighed heavily upon her, too heavily for her to completely hide her trepidations._

_Rumple looked up from the wheel then. "Aunt Hulda?" he asked. "Is something the matter?"_

_Blue forced herself to smile. "I was just wondering," she said gently. "When your father used the bean… do you know the name of the realm to which he traveled?"_

_The boy's face seemed to crumple as it often did these days when his father was mentioned. "He… he called it Neverland," he replied. "Why?"_

_Blue sighed heavily. "I was only wondering," she repeated.  
_

_And down through the years, she would continue to wonder about the fate that had befallen Tiger Lily. For Neverland remained closed off from all forms of scrying and divination. The portents were mute, leading Blue to believe that her dear friend and pupil had perished. And even two centuries later, when Tinker Bell arrived in Storybrooke after having lived decades in that realm, there was no further news to be had._

* * *

"And you blamed me for _that_?" Rumple demanded. So much for Blue's blithe assurance that Good didn't exact retribution.

The fairy gave him a scornful look. "Of course not," she retorted. "I blamed myself for giving you an opportunity you didn't understand or appreciate."

"That wasn't the only time," August interrupted, and if there was pain in his eyes, they didn't waver as they met those of the woman who'd given him life three times.

Blue sighed. "I am sorry for that, Pinocchio," she admitted. "I'm not trying to make excuses but… fairies come into the world as adults. They may lack life experience and education, but emotional maturity is innate. As I mentioned, I hadn't had a good deal of exposure to mortals of any race in general, nor to humans in particular. I didn't realize that a human child would require more guidance and support than one of our novices might in similar circumstances."

The scuff of a rubber boot sole behind her made Blue turn her head and she saw Emma standing in the entrance way, an angry look on her face. Regina and Whale were a half-step behind and neither one looked happy either. The savior's eyes softened as they locked on the Dark One's and there was no missing the relief on Rumpelstiltskin's face when he saw her. Blue pressed her lips together and took another breath.

"I thought," she turned to Rumple with uncharacteristic embarrassment, "that teaching you a useful trade so that you could make your way in the world without being dependent on your father was all the assistance that you'd require. It didn't occur to me that additional instruction would be necessary. I know the harm your father inflicted upon you when he abandoned you, but I thought your failure to assert your independence and strike out on your own could best be ascribed to fear for the unknown. And… other matters were demanding our attention. Flora and I had never intended to remain in Thornbrook for an extended time. When the pestilence struck, we… saw a way in which we could depart without making it seem as though we were abandoning you."

"Seriously?" Emma nearly spat the word out. "It was okay to leave, just so long as he didn't think it was by choice?"

"It wasn't by choice," Blue retorted. "We had… we _have_ many tasks to accomplish and we couldn't remain in one village, cut off from the rest of our kind, living as mortals without wands or fairy dust indefinitely."

"The last thirty years say otherwise," Emma shot back.

Flora, silent until now, spoke up nervously. "Perhaps… perhaps, we were a bit hasty," she murmured.

"You _think?_ " Emma whirled on her.

"I guess I should be glad you appointed a proxy in my case," August muttered. "Instead of leaving _me_ to intuit the right thing to do on my own."

Blue shook her head. "We were a good deal more involved in Rumpelstiltskin's education, for all the good it did," she glanced at Rumple. "Weren't we?"

Tight-lipped, Rumple nodded, anguish and fury mingling in his wounded brown eyes.

"And despite our instruction," she was still focused on Rumple, "the child we nurtured for three years grew up to become the Dark One. Obviously," she glanced at August, "when it came to your upbringing, I had the sense to allow someone more familiar with mortal ways to take over primary care..."

* * *

Rumple's jaw clenched. At his side, one hand curled into a fist while the other tightened and whitened around the handle of his cane. He wondered how it could be that he seemed to feel his blood drain from his face while, simultaneously, it was roaring in his ears. He wanted to lash out with his cane and batter it on the chairs and tables until it snapped in two. He wanted to shriek and sob and flee from this room where that… viper had blandly told him that even the small happiness he'd known in his life hadn't been real. That nobody had ever truly cared for him as anything other than a duty or a burden. As something broken to be repaired and sent on its way.

He wouldn't. He wouldn't break down before the likes of her, particularly not in a public place where anyone could just pass by and watch. And he certainly wouldn't give her the satisfaction of watching him run off with his tail between his legs, as it were.

And why the hell did the hat have that check on its power that precluded using it to trap anyone it had ever held inside it a second time? Because he certainly wasn't about to use his own magic against her, not when doing so would likely destroy him.

And then, August drew a step closer and, while he spoke softly, his voice carried so that it was audible to all in the room. "It's too crowded in here," he muttered. "I need some air. How about you?"

"Mr. Gold?" Whale spoke up for the first time. "That's not such a bad idea. Just so long as somebody is with you who can get you back here if anything goes wrong with what's left of your heart, I don't think we need to keep you here any longer."

"We'll work out a schedule," David chimed in. "I mean," he gave Rumple an apologetic smile, "if you're okay with that."

Rumple wasn't sure he could trust his voice, but he forced himself to nod. He did need to get out of here. He wasn't sure what was more shocking: Blue's revelation or the way everyone seemed to be rallying about him, but if he had to stay here among these people, alongside these stinging wasps, for very much longer, he was either going to explode or implode and he wasn't sure which would be the preferable of the two bad options. He closed his eyes. His clothing. He couldn't leave attired as he was. He'd have to ask to borrow something and hope that Snow had been right about the hospital keeping some spare garments about. He squared his shoulders and opened his eyes…

…And realized that instead of terry slippers, he was looking at polished black leather shoes. His gaze traveled up slowly, confirming that he was wearing one of his customary suits. Stunned, he glanced at Regina who shrugged.

"It would seem I'm recovered enough to cast a glamor spell with no ill effects," she said matter-of-factly. "You should probably go home to get changed, though. No telling how long this one will last."

"Isn't the stroke of midnight traditional?" August deadpanned.

"If you'll recall," Regina retorted, " _that_ spell was cast in the middle of the evening. It's not even two in the afternoon right now."

Emma grinned, but her expression quickly turned serious once more. "So that's it?" she asked Whale. "He can go?"

"Well, there's some paperwork to be filled out," Whale said, addressing Rumple, "but I can bring it 'round this evening if you'd rather leave now."

Rumple nodded. "If you wouldn't mind," he managed.

"No trouble at all. Just let me know where to meet you."

* * *

Rumple resolved to keep himself together until he was safe in the car—whether Emma had arrived in her bug or in one of the sheriff's vehicles mattered little to him. They'd just walked out the main entrance when Emma's phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket and gave Gold an apologetic smile.

"Hey, kid, what's up?"

"Mom," Henry exclaimed, "about Nimuë. You said that she was the first Dark One?"

"Hang on." She turned to Gold for confirmation with an apologetic look. "That's what your grandfather says. Henry, this really isn't a good ti—"

"And _Merlin_ created her? Or made her the Dark One, I mean?"

"That's right," Emma said, after checking with Gold once more. "You found something?"

"Kinda. There _was_ a book in the mansion. Well. There were a couple. But according to one of them, she was Merlin's True Love…"


	45. Chapter Forty-Five

**Chapter Forty-Five**

Emma ended the call and scowled briefly at her phone before pocketing it. "Every time I think we're getting closer to an answer, we end up with a bunch of new questions," she muttered. She gave Gold an apologetic smile. "But that's something we can deal with later." She waved her hand to the spot across the street where her bug was parked. "Which would you prefer? House or shop?"

Gold shook his head. "Neither at the moment. Too many memories at the former; too little privacy at the latter."

"Uh… okay. I'm guessing if you're looking for privacy, Granny's is out," Emma said, smiling a bit when Gold snorted agreement. "Do you want to just drive around or have you got someplace in mind?"

Gold didn't answer until they were across the street. "I don't… I'd prefer a destination, but… Just away from here."

Emma nodded. "Someplace you can unwind where you won't be disturbed and don't have a lot of memories." She opened the passenger door and started to move the seat forward for August.

"I'll catch up with you later, actually," August said. "I think I need to go home first."

"You okay?"

August shook his head. "No, but I'll get there. Call me if you need me." He gave Rumple a smile. "That goes for you, too." He waited for Gold's quick startled nod before he started making his way to his motorcycle.

Once Gold was ensconced in the bug, Emma got in on the driver's side. "So," she asked hesitantly, "what about your cabin?"

Gold blinked. And then a faint smile came to his lips. "That… I think that will do rather nicely," he replied.

"Okay." She reached over and clasped his hand. "Hey. You're going to get through this."

Gold didn't answer, but he did squeeze her hand back.

"Okay," Emma said again. "Try to relax. We'll be there in a few minutes."

* * *

Emma parked on one side of the gravel path that led up to the cabin from the paved road. It was still some three hundred yards to the door, but the path hadn't been cleared of snow and despite the temperature's having risen to slightly above the freezing point in the last couple of days, the drifts were high enough that she didn't want to risk driving any closer. Gold didn't wait for her to come around to open his door; he was out of the car almost before her key was out of the ignition.

"You might want to wait here before stepping inside," he called back to her without turning. "There's something I need to do first."

Emma quickened her pace. "Can I help?" she asked.

He turned to face her then. "Can I help?" he repeated with a hint of bitter mockery. "Not, 'what is it'?"

Emma took a cautious step forward. "I… I guess I just know what it's like to feel that you have to handle… stuff… on your own. If that's what you want," she gestured toward a nearby boulder, "then fine. I'll just sit out here until you're ready to invite me inside. Or until I start getting antsy and worrying if Whale was right to be concerned about your heart," she admitted with a tentative smile. "But if you're shutting me out because you're trying to spare me or shield me or something… don't." She drew closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I can take it."

He was about to laugh in her face and tell her she had no idea what she was letting herself in for. Then he remembered. Emma had been there—here, on this very spot, in fact—when he would have beaten a captive Moe French to within an inch of his life (and perhaps even further). She'd seen his fury when he realized she'd lied to him about Bae in New York. She'd seen him humble himself, beseeching Bae for forgiveness and she'd seen their tearful reconciliation when he'd nearly died in Storybrooke. She'd been in the warehouse when he'd briefly had Zelena at his mercy. He'd warrant that she'd witnessed his total breakdown on the library stairs in Manhattan—to say nothing of the spectacle he'd surely made of himself afterwards in the hotel lobby. And after the events of what he hadn't realized had been their last night in that hotel…

…The savior likely had a very good idea of what she would witness if she followed him inside now. She'd seen him lose control. She'd seen him weak and powerless. And if she hadn't yet seen him as dark as she could have, she'd certainly seen enough to have some idea of the deeds of which he was capable. But if she was still prepared to give him a second chance, then it was only fair that he extend her the same courtesy instead of leaving her outside in the cold.

"It won't be pleasant, dearie," he said, forcing a good-humored response. One last chance for her to back away. One final attempt for him to save face, in case she was making the offer to be polite, but fully expecting him to reject it.

Her hand tightened on his shoulder. "Neither was what just happened at the hospital."

"I demanded an explanation. She gave it."

"You know as well as I do that she didn't have to give it that bluntly. You deserved better."

Gold turned disbelieving eyes on hers. "Did I? Do you truly believe that, dearie?"

Emma blinked. "Uh, yeaah. You ask me, she screwed up all those years ago and instead of owning it, she's looking back now and trying to justify what she did then. It doesn't work that way." She clapped her free hand to his other shoulder. "Does it?"

In other words, nobody would have countenanced such excuses had they fallen from _his_ lips instead of the gnat's. He swallowed hard and shook his head. "All right." It was a hoarse whisper, but at least it came out by itself, without dragging forth the tears that were also struggling to break free against his best efforts. He shrugged himself out of her hands and turned back toward the cabin, gesturing to her to follow. "Come inside."

* * *

Snow was lost in thought as she and David made their way back to the truck. With Gold and Emma out of the hospital and Regina's magic at her beck and call, there was no further need to guard the hallway. It was time to pick Neal up from Granny Lucas and go home.

On the drive to the diner, David kept stealing anxious glances at his wife as she sat stiffly beside him, her eyes closed, her face paler than usual. Finally, when they were stopped at a red light, he cleared his throat. "Snow?"

"You know," she answered, speaking slowly, almost lazily, "for a long time, now, I've been asking myself how I could _ever_ have fallen for Cora's trick. How I could have thought for one moment that Blue would offer me the chance to save my mother's life at the cost of someone else's."

David shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he waited for the light to change. "I wouldn't say that what we learned today was _quite_ on that level," he pointed out.

"It might not have been Dark _magic_ ," Snow admitted. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't… well, Dark. I know her intentions were good. So were ours when we wanted to ensure that our daughter would grow up to become a Hero. And I know we did something horrible to make that happen. The difference is, we both know it and we're trying to do better. I don't think Blue's even admitted she was wrong."

"I know," David admitted. "I want to think that there's more to the story, something that would cast her in a better light…"

"She put a child in an impossible situation and, no matter what she said about not blaming him for it when things went wrong, her actions tell another story. And later on, when Neal went to her for help, she again decided that the best solution was one that separated parent and child."

"Now, she wanted Rumpelstiltskin to go through the portal, too."

"But she had to know that there was a good chance he wouldn't. And as for what she did to August…"

David nodded. "Yeah. I might be able to rationalize her trying to protect _our_ realm from the Dark One by hoping his son could convince him to leave for another. And one where he'd have no magic so he wouldn't pose a threat… I have to admit that when we were trying to decide what to do to Regina, had we been able to exile her to a Land without Magic, we might have gone with that option."

"I know."

"But being so… certain that August was being led astray that she used magic on him without getting all the facts…"

"We have to do something," Snow said.

"Okay… what?"

Snow shook her head miserably. "I don't know. Blue's one of my oldest friends, David. But we can't just brush aside what we learned today. At least," she closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat, "I can't. Any more than Emma could when she found out about what we did." Her eyes flew open and there was something hard behind them as she kept talking. "Blue might have meant well, but… so did we. And meaning well doesn't excuse the harm done in both cases. I meant well when I told Cora about Daniel, after all. David, Blue isn't some sheltered ten-year-old who didn't yet know how… evil some people could be. She knew what she was doing and she doesn't sound like she regrets it, even now. She justified what she did to Rumpelstiltskin as though because he went on to become the Dark One, it somehow made it retroactively okay that she broke up the only family he had and then walked out on him because she had better things to do. When those actions might be a good part of why Rumpelstiltskin grew up to become… a person who thought being the Dark One would be his best chance."

She sucked in her breath. "And... And David, I-I studied about the Ogre Wars as a child. Over twenty-five thousand children were drafted to swell the army ranks. Fewer than one thousand came back, and more than half of those who did had only just been called to the front when the Dark O—when _Rumpelstiltskin_ stopped it." She closed her eyes again. "Maybe becoming the Dark One _was_ his best chance. Or if not his, his son's."

"Things are a lot more complicated than we thought," David admitted.

Snow shook her head. "You'd think by now, that wouldn't be such a surprise, but it still catches me off guard."

"We can't act too hastily," David added. "Or we _might_ just make things worse."

"We can't act hastily," Snow nodded, "but we do have to act. Or things _are_ going to get worse." She took a breath. "I don't know how to deal with what Blue did. But as far as what _we_ did..."

* * *

Emma tried not to flinch at the sharp cracks and clacks of wood striking wood and metal that came from the other room. Those sounds were also accompanied by inarticulate cries as often as not. She reminded herself firmly that she'd asked to be here. She'd thought she could take it. She had (false) memories of Henry's toddlerhood and she suspected that his tantrums hadn't been something Regina had invented to give her the 'full motherhood experience', but rather something Regina had _lived_. In which case, Emma was extremely thankful that Henry had grown into a fairly easygoing kid, because he seemed to have been the poster child for the 'terrible twos'.

But hearing the sounds emanating from the other room in this two-room cabin was worse than any toddler's tantrum. There was something unnerving about a grown man losing control, particularly one whose general demeanor bespoke calm and polish.

She'd said she could handle this.

She looked about the dimly-lit main room in vain for something to occupy herself with. The lone bookshelf had a few jacketless hardbacks with titles and authors she'd never heard of: _The Show Must Go On_ by Elmer Rice, _Visibility Unlimited_ by Dick Grace… There were also several paperbacks on home repair and gardening, none of which had any white cracks or creases in their spines. The place could use a dusting, but she wasn't _that_ bored. Truthfully, if she could tell for sure that she wouldn't destroy something to which Gold bore some sentimental attachment, she had half a mind to grab the fireplace poker and start smashing a few things out here.

Maybe that was an improvement. Another time, another life, and she'd already be in her car, driving as far down the highway as she could before she had to decide if she was going to turn around or just keep moving.

She surveyed the room again. No radio, no television, not even a deck of cards for a game of solitaire. Well. There were some closed cabinets and drawers, but she wasn't going to go digging through Gold's personal effects. She eyed the fireplace speculatively. It was a bit cool in here now and it would get colder as the day wore into evening and the temperature dropped. And there weren't more than a couple of logs and a few sticks of kindling in the holder.

Emma smiled. If she didn't miss her guess, she'd just found something she could do that would enable her to both warm up some and work off her anger. She slipped out the cabin door and went around to the back, to find that she'd guessed right. She broke into a smile as she approached the chopping block and reached for the axe.

* * *

His arm gave out before his cane did; the thing seemed to be a good deal more durable than he'd thought. For what seemed a long time, he simply stood with his eyes closed, trembling and panting from exertion in the center of the small cabin bedroom and sweating in his woolen suit, despite the cold temperatures outside. He hadn't stopped to turn the heat on when he'd entered and since the thermostat control was concealed behind a removable panel built into one of the wooden wall beams, he doubted Emma would have known about it to turn it on.

His pulse was still hammering, his blood pounding in his ears, and he really needed to sit down now. He opened his eyes, half-dreading to witness the effects of his temper on the furnishings of the room. Then he told himself forcefully that he wasn't _that_ much of a coward.

Even so, it was with some dismay that he surveyed the destruction. He'd swept just about everything off of the shelves and furniture tops. A few ceramic knickknacks were probably salvageable, but most had been reduced to tiny shards. He thought he might have hurled them against the walls when they hadn't broken satisfactorily enough initially, but the past little while was somewhat of a blur, now. There were fresh nicks and scratches in both walls and furniture. It was a wonder he'd spared the window. The mattress was half off the double bed, one edge resting on the floor, the bedclothes pooled beneath it in something too messy to properly be called a pile.

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. Even for him, this was a bit much. He circled to the other side of the bed to shift the mattress back onto the box springs, but quickly realized that his arms were still aching from his emotional outburst. He really had gone into things with abandon. He winced, whether from the extent of the carnage or the choice of wording—which only started him thinking about the fairy's earlier revelation once more. About how they'd abandoned him to his fate. If he'd had any energy left, he probably would have gone into the front room and started on _those_ furnishings. If Emma was so sure that she could 'deal' with his temper, then perhaps he ought to put that to the test.

He knew he wouldn't. Even if she didn't care if she saw him in such a state, he did. He'd come up here so that he could melt down in privacy, without witnesses, and it was bad enough that she'd heard his exhibition of fury without having her _see_ it. He barely remembered destroying the room now, but he could still hear the rhythmic thwack of his cane when he had. He could hear it plain as day, in fact, almost as though it was still going on.

After a moment, he realized that the noise wasn't a memory; it _was_ going on now. With a frown, he pushed aside the linen curtain and peered out the window. His eyebrows shot up.

He started for the door and then stopped, remembering Regina's warning about her glamor spell. Instead, he opened the closet and a small smile stole to his lips. He'd kept a change of clothes here during the first Dark Curse; the man he'd thought he'd been then had toyed with the notion of coming up here for a weekend to unwind, though he'd never actually done it. Until this moment, Rumple hadn't been certain that the extra suit had returned here with the second casting, but there it hung as though waiting for him.

Emma's chopping continued unabated during the few minutes it took him to change.

* * *

Emma hadn't dug a path to the woodpile, merely stomped through the snow drifts that came halfway up his shins, but she'd kicked snow about when she'd lifted her feet and Rumple didn't have far to walk in any case. He'd had a considerably longer trek from the car to the cabin earlier. This was just going halfway around the house. His ankle barely had the chance to start aching before he reached her.

She had her back to him as she reached for another log, set it upright on the block and swung the axe down to split it neatly in two.

"No need for that, savior," he called softly. "The cabin has another heat source."

Emma didn't let go of the axe when she turned to face him. "Good to know," she said, reaching for another log.

He took another step toward her. "Emma? Are you all right?"

Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head. "Not really. But don't worry about it. I'll deal."

Rumple looked at the smallish pile of split wood. His eyes narrowed as he noted the tension in the savior's voice and he recalled the conversation they'd had several days earlier over a shared dessert platter and egg creams. One corner of his mouth quirked up. "I begin to appreciate how it is that you can accept a display of temper in another with relative equanimity."

For a moment, Emma looked away, embarrassed at having been caught out. Then she smiled ruefully. "Guess you're not the only one who wanted to hit something. But… I didn't want to wreck anything of yours I wouldn't be able to replace and I, uh… didn't see a toaster."

A toaster? For a moment, Rumple blinked in confusion. Then he remembered the call he'd paid her when Regina had attempted to install a new sheriff after Graham's demise and the half-smile became whole. "Another throwback to your adolescent years?"

"Guess so," she admitted. "Sorry. I just… Blue might've been pushing your buttons, but she mashed a few of mine, too, back there." She shook her head again. "Nothing you need to deal with right now. I'll be okay." She frowned. "Are _you_ feeling any better?"

Rumple gave her a pained look. "Not really. But I've run out of things to break."

Emma thought about that for a moment. "You know," she said speculatively, "I bet if we took another drive to the outskirts of town, we could find something else. I bet there's a lot of stuff in people's storm cellars that wouldn't be missed…"

As he took her meaning, an appreciative smile seemed to light his face, but it vanished quickly and he asked, "You aren't able to teleport large objects yet, correct?"

"Not that large," Emma admitted.

"In that case, I think I'll postpone the pleasure such an excursion would bring me until you are." Odds were she'd be able to master the necessary spell before his memories of those months of confinement in that cellar—in that cage—subsided to a level where he could contemplate returning there of his own free will. At present, barring a command backed by his dagger, not even the happy thought of blasting his former prison to sawdust and rust would suffice to get him back down those stairs.

"Guess I'd better start practicing," Emma murmured. Then, in a completely different tone, she demanded, "Did you just come out here without a coat?"

Rumple's eyebrows lifted. "Regina's spell didn't provide one. It isn't really that cold—" He stopped as Emma shrugged out of her own jacket.

"Here," she snapped. "I was getting overheated anyway and Whale'd have a fit if he saw you out here like this."

"Well then, it's a good thing he can't," Rumple retorted, but he accepted the jacket and draped it over his shoulders; he wasn't about to try squeezing his suit sleeves into the narrow arms. He sighed. "You were only recently released yourself." He motioned toward the cabin. "Come. Bring some of that kindling with you if you like; I daresay I can forgo the thermostat and light a fire for now." He frowned. "I believe hot chocolate is the preferred beverage under the circumstances. There should be a canister in one of the cabinets, but I don't think I've any cinnamon at hand."

Emma blinked. "That's okay," she murmured. "I mean…" she smiled self-consciously, "thanks. I'm sure it'll taste fine without it."

"Have you ever tried peppermint as an addition?"

Emma blinked again. "Peppermint? You mean… in hot chocolate? No. I-I've made it with vanilla extract a few times, but never peppermint. I like chocolate mint ice cream, though."

Rumple motioned toward the cabin again and she gathered up an armload of wood and fell into step alongside him. "I suppose the extract might be acceptable with some tweaking," he replied. "But I've found that using a peppermint stick as a stirrer works rather well. If memory serves, I should have some of those here as well." His smile was tentative. Emma matched it.

"You know," she said, "that sounds like a combination worth trying. Uh… About before. You're okay, now?"

He gave her a pained look. "Not really," he admitted, "but it would be fair to say I'm a bit better."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Rumple hesitated. Much as he preferred to deal with his internal demons on his own, if Blue's actions had roused some of the savior's... "Do… do you?" he ventured.

Instead of answering, Emma started walking back the way they'd come. Several steps from the front door, however, she paused. "Maybe," she said softly. "Maybe it'll help."

"It might spare the furnishings in the front room, at least." And then, worried that his attempt at making light of the situation had fallen flat, he added, "From both our tempers."

Emma's sudden intake of breath sounded suspiciously like a laugh as she reached out and grasped his forearm.

* * *

The earthenware mug Gold brought her was almost too hot for her to cup her hands about when she took it from him. The red, green, and white of the peppermint stick, already beginning to dissolve in the hot liquid, provided a bright contrast to the sepia-brown vessel in which it resided.

"Mind you don't scald yourself," he cautioned.

Emma accepted both mug and warning with a smile and thanks. She set it down on the small wooden table next to her chair, while Gold went back to the kettle for his own mug. He placed it on the same table and brought another chair over. She waited until he'd sat down before she leaned toward him and took a deep breath.

"I… guess I can kind of relate to finding out that everything I thought I knew about my history was off-base," she began.

Gold snorted. "I daresay your new information was easier to hear than mine was."

Emma shook her head. "Not really. And you know it, too. I mean, you heard me go off on my parents on the ride to Neverland. It didn't matter that they thought they were doing the right thing, that they sent me away to give me my best chance, not even that I gave up Henry for the same reason. Henry was missing, I was hurting and angry and Greg and Tamara weren't there and I felt like I had to blame somebody and…"

"And the feelings of abandonment you thought you'd put aside came rushing to the fore," Gold nodded, recognizing what she was about to tell him.

"Yeah." She sighed. Then glanced at Gold, read the expression on his face, and abruptly covered his hand with her own.

He closed his eyes. "You had the pain of not knowing why you were abandoned. I… thought I knew. They died in a pestilence and I had no choice but to make my way alone." His voice hardened. "And today, I learned that they simply had… other preoccupations."

Emma shook her head. "I know. I'm still trying to wrap my head around that one."

Gold blinked. Then a slow smile came to his face. "I wouldn't think you'd find it too difficult," he said, and though his tone was light, there was a bitter edge to it. "I told you a long time ago that I was a difficult man to love."

Emma's grip tightened on his hand. "Gold, sometimes… the problem isn't you. And I somehow doubt it was you back then."

Gold made a scoffing sound, but Emma wasn't finished. "I mean it. You were a kid. I… Look. You've heard of Einstein, right? I mean I don't know how the curse memories work exactly, but—"

"I know who he was," Gold said tersely.

"Well, did you know he flunked the entrance exam to university?"

"Just how is that relevant?"

Emma waited for him to meet her eyes. "Because sometimes, the test isn't… fair. I'm not even talking about the game being rigged like Regina thinks. I… Do you know _why_ he flunked that entrance exam?"

"No, but I'm certain you're about to tell me."

Emma nodded. "The exam was given in French. He spoke German. Without understanding the language those examinations were written in, there was no way he could have passed anything but the math section—which, by the way, he did. A lot of people get that part of the story wrong."

"Your point?"

Emma squeezed his hand. "You were eight years old and you wanted to be with your father. Blue gave you a bean and expected you to leave everyone and everything you knew behind and strike out on your own, just because you already had the skill to start you toward a career. Now, you don't usually open up to the rest of us, or at least, you haven't until recently, so it's not that easy to always know what makes you tick. But one thing that's always come through loud and clear is how important family is to you. For Blue to suggest that you leave, not just your biological father, but also the new family you'd just become a part of and head off to who knows where when you were _eight_?" Emma shook her head. "She might as well have been talking to you in another language."

Gold closed his eyes. "She mentioned looking to the portents before. Did you understand what she meant?"

Emma thought for a moment. "I think I sort of got it from the context. I mean, is it like predicting the future?"

"It is. It permits the caster a fleeting glimpse of a subject's destiny. If she saw mine… It would explain why she encouraged me to journey elsewhere."

"Yeah, she seems to be great at writing people off for not doing exactly what she thinks they should," Emma muttered. "I've had a few social workers like that."

Gold snorted. "It's hardly the same thing."

"Maybe not exactly," Emma admitted, "but close. Just another person who's so sure they've got people figured out that they don't bother seeing anything that might suggest they've missed the whole picture." Her eyes hardened. "You know something? Screw her."

"I beg your pardon?" Gold replied, too astonished to chuckle.

"Screw her. She doesn't get to decide who you are. That's your choice. Some people love to slap labels on other people. Coward, troubled kid, miser, trash… They just love telling you who you are. And you've got to punch back and say, 'No. This is who I am.' You want them to see you differently? Make them. Just like you've gotten me and August and…" She hesitated the barest instant before barreling on, "…and Belle to do it. And I don't think we're the only ones. Or haven't you noticed?"

"And you think that's going to last?" Gold demanded, ignoring her mention of Belle.

"I don't know," Emma conceded. "But what you were just saying about being a hard man to love? Maybe that's true; I don't know. But… I do know this: you aren't all that hard to _like_. When you take a chance and let your walls down a little. Which," she broke eye contact and stared at the table, her face flushing slightly, "is something I have to work on, too."

She looked up hesitantly. Gold was staring at her, his jaw slightly agape. The silence stretched a bit longer than was comfortable and she raised the mug to her lips. The hot chocolate had cooled considerably, but it still retained some warmth. She lowered it with a smile. "You know, this is really good," she murmured. Then she took another draught, not missing the tentative answering smile that flickered on Gold's own face.

* * *

August arrived soon afterwards. "Sorry I cut out on you guys before," he said almost as soon as he was through the door. "Oh, uh…" He turned to Rumple. "If you aren't planning on sleeping up here, David said he'll be happy to drive you back into town, so long as you tell him before nine or so. And if he gets there ahead of me, he'll stick around for a few minutes until I catch up." He smiled. "Unless you want to forget the lift and ride pillion on my bike, I mean."

Rumple snorted at that. "Hardly." He frowned. "Are you quite all right now?" he asked.

August shook his head. "Better," he said, "but…" He seemed to notice that Emma was standing there and hesitated for a moment before he continued. "I started having those dreams before Blue got involved. It's just… something I live with for now," he said.

"Dreams?" Emma asked sharply.

"Later," August sighed. "But… well… I hope this is okay. I realized back there in the hospital that if Blue still thinks that what she did to me was justified... I mean, she didn't take the spell off me because she realized she was wrong; she did it because your parents disagreed with her and… whatever else she might be," he met Emma's eyes squarely, "she's always been loyal to your mother."

A page from Henry's book flashed into Emma's mind. August had a point. It would have been easy for Blue to be just a hair slower in halting Regina's execution. The order had been given. The arrows had been in flight. Had they found their mark, the fairy could have reasonably claimed that she hadn't been able to stop them in time. But at Snow's command, she had. Even though, at the time, she'd considered Regina to be beyond redemption and she must have supported the verdict. "Okay, no argument," she replied. "So…?"

"So, it occurred to me that if Blue was really trying to steer me away from," he gave Rumple an apologetic smile, "anyone she _believes_ to be a bad influence, if she couldn't affect me directly, she might, um, go to my father instead." He sighed again, more heavily this time. "She used to pop into the workshop from time to time. She knows what arguments to raise and how to raise them to get him worked up to the point where he wouldn't listen to anything I had to say. Papa can be," August coughed, "a little stubborn sometimes. Usually when it concerns me."

Rumple nodded. "A reasonable guess. And…?"

"And I decided to talk to him first. About… a lot of what's been going on recently and about what went on in the past. My past. My past, um, misadventures, anyway."

Rumple's eyes widened. From what Booth had told him that night in the bar, neither father nor son were eager to revisit those days. "How did _that_ go?"

August smiled then and there was a faint note of laughter in his voice when he spoke next. "I… may have gotten him worked up to the point where he doesn't want to listen to anything _Blue_ has to say." He quickly sobered. "That's not to say he isn't… concerned about my choice in friends," he continued, ducking his head slightly. "He says he trusts me. But he also says it'd put his mind more at ease if he were convinced that I wasn't being led down the wrong path again."

Rumple snorted. "And just how does he expect to be so convinced?" he demanded.

August exhaled noisily and it was difficult to tell whether there was a sigh or a new laugh concealed therein. "He seems to think that if you joined us for dinner some night next week, he'll be able to see how things look first-hand." Something about the expression on Rumple's face elicited an embarrassed chuckle. He shook his head. "I know, I know. I'm not nine anymore. I can pick my own friends without his approval. But I guess we can all admit I grew up pretty fast this time and he's still adjusting." His smile carried more than a hint of apology. "If it's any consolation, it's not just because it's you. Ever since I… started my second childhood, he's been insisting on meeting every new friend I've made that he knows about. Maybe it's overkill, but I guess I can understand it. Considering."

Rumple realized that he was gaping at Booth and he forced his jaw to close. "I suppose I'd best consult my schedule when I return home, then," he murmured, trying to recover from his astonishment. Dinner invitations, regardless of the reason, were few and far between. And even at those functions without a set guest list, where everyone in town was technically welcome to attend, there was generally an unspoken sense of, 'Rumpelstiltskin excepted' tacked on. His eyes narrowed. "You're certain that this is all Marco's idea? Did you happen to discuss…"

"I didn't bring up my grandparents," August said, his expression serious. "As far as I know, it's what he told me: he wants to make sure the people I associate with won't be the kind who'll point me toward Pleasure Island or worse. I mean, I'm not saying Father mightn't be thinking about his parents and wondering if there's a way to restore them, but if he is, it's not something he's discussed with me."

Rumple nodded. "It was just an idea." He turned to Emma.

"Shall I see you tomorrow, then? Or will you trust that the pirate will be able to continue his repairs without provoking me to turn him into a macaw?"

Emma smiled. "I'll stop by at some point to see how things are. Not first thing in the morning, though. Henry has to interview me for some school assignment, something about talking to a parent or friend about what they do at their job every day. And I promised him we could do that on Saturday, which is tomorrow and the thing is due Monday, so…"

"Worry not," Gold smiled back. "The shop will still be standing when you're finished."

* * *

Both her parents were waiting for her when she opened the door at half-past eleven that evening. "We were wondering when you'd be back," Snow smiled.

David was rocking Neal, but as Emma took off her jacket, he got up slowly and carefully placed the infant in his cradle.

"Sorry," Emma murmured. "After August took over for me at Gold's cabin, I went back to the convent. Still nothing concrete on that front," she added with a scowl. "A whole lot of threads and throwaway lines that could mean this and could mean that." She pulled one of the kitchen chairs out to face her parents and sank into it. "And after spending the afternoon helping Gold calm down, I got to spend a good part of the evening helping _Belle_ calm down. Never realized how much those two had in common before," she added in an undertone.

"He's back in town now," David murmured with a smile. "I picked him up around seven. In his car," he added. "It's been in the hospital lot all this time, so it was the easiest way to return it to him."

Emma grinned back.

"How's Belle doing?" Snow asked.

Emma's smile dropped and she shook her head. "Not great. It's kind of hard watching, but it's worse turning away, so…"

"Emma," David broke in. Something about his tone snapped Emma back to alertness. "I… your mother and have been talking about… well, about a few things. And we've come to a decision."

"Sometimes," Snow added, "I think we all do… bad things for good reasons. And sometimes, having good intentions is enough. But sometimes it isn't. After this afternoon, I… _we've_ been doing some soul-searching about… some of our past actions. Maybe it's not too late to try to make things right. Anyway… we're going to try."

"Once Regina's out of the hospital," David continued, "we're going to ask her if there's some way to replicate the Snow Queen's scroll so that there's more than one way to come back to Storybrooke once you've left it. We're also going to keep working on lowering that barrier. If Rumpelstiltskin has any ideas on either count, we'll be happy to hear them. But once traveling back and forth across the town line becomes less risky…"

"We-we don't know what happened to Maleficent's child after the egg fell through that portal," Snow said. "I guess we don't even know if he or she ended up in this realm. But whether this realm or another… we're responsible for whatever happened to it and we're going to learn what did. And if there's any way to make things right moving forward. As soon as we can…" she looked at her husband.

"We're going to do whatever it takes to find her child and figure out if there's anything we can do to hel—"

Emma was out of her chair and embracing both her parents before David could finish his sentence.

* * *

Emma sipped her coffee and pushed away her nearly-empty plate. There was no trace of pancake matter remaining on the dish, just a puddle of syrup, a sprinkling of powdered sugar, and a lone raspberry.

Henry was using his last piece of French toast to sop up a glob of strawberry jam.

"Okay, kid," Emma said, as he downed the morsel. "If you're going to do the interview, you'd better start before the breakfast crowd starts coming in."

They'd decided to eat at Granny's because Neal was generally fussy in the morning and Henry wanted to record the interview on his phone. The assignment was to present the video to the class, coupled with a written report for the teacher. And although the teacher in question _was_ Henry's grandmother, Henry knew better than to expect any leniency, should the soundtrack of his video presentation be marred by a crying baby. Even if the crying baby was his teacher's own son.

Emma half-wanted to suggest doing the thing later in the day, but the way things were going in Storybrooke, there was no way of knowing whether there would be any time for it later in the day. Crises had a way of proliferating in this place and she'd pushed this off long enough.

She looked around the diner. So far, there were only a handful of customers. At the table behind theirs, Blue was seated, her back to them. Just as well. She and Blue had seldom conversed in any meaningful way and Emma had no interest in reversing that trend this morning.

At the counter, Leroy and two of his brothers were having coffee. There were, perhaps, a half-dozen or so others whom Emma knew by sight, if not by name, scattered about the dining area. So far, conversation was minimal, but that was likely to change quickly.

Right on cue, the door opened and Belle walked in. She smiled at Emma and Henry as she passed their table; Emma had told her about Henry's school project the evening before.

Henry had his phone out and on, but he was frowning. "Mom?" he asked, "Could we change seats? I'm getting too much glare from the sun."

Emma nodded and rose to her feet. Once she was seated where Henry had been and he'd taken up her former place, Henry raised his phone again. "Yeah, that's better," he nodded. "Starting to record… Now." He turned his phone toward himself. "Good morning. I'm sitting here today in Granny's with my mother. Mom? For the record, would you tell everyone who you are and what you do?"

Emma smiled. "Okay, my name is Emma Swan. I'm currently the co-sheriff of Storybrooke."

"How long have you—?" Henry's eyes widened and he half-rose from his chair, even as Emma heard a muffled 'thwump', followed almost simultaneously by a collective gasp from the surrounding tables, a grunt of pain coming from behind her, and the clatter of a chair falling backwards. She felt something jostle her shoulder, pushing her forward toward the table. Then that same something landed in the aisle beside her with an ungainly thud.

It took Emma a moment to recognize that it was Blue.

As the half-dazed fairy lay on the floor, her blue serge skirt riding up about one of her hips to display a bit of knee, and the area around her right eye turning a slowly darkening shade of pink, Belle took several steps forward to stand over her, her hands on her hips and her blue eyes blazing.

"That was for Rumple. _And_ August. And if you _ever—_!"

Emma realized that Henry still had his phone trained on the scene, recording every word and image. "Henry!" she stage-whispered.

Henry ignored her.

"Henry, put the phone down!"

Reluctantly, Henry hit a button on his touchscreen. Then he slid back into his chair.

"I can't believe you did that!" Emma scolded. "You can't just—"

"Mom!" Henry held up a hand frantically. "I had to!"

"What do you mean you had to?"

Henry smiled. "All part of Operation Hornbill."

Emma's mouth hung slightly open for a moment. Then, forgetting that she usually tried to keep her language G-rated in her son's presence, she shot back, "What the _hell_ is Operation Hornbill?"

* * *

"He's trying to get them back together?"

Emma couldn't tell whether Regina was incredulous or amused at the idea.

"Look, I'm not saying I wouldn't love for it to happen, but I think the worst thing anyone can do is try to… to set them up like they're in some screwball romantic comedy. I mean, what next? Send them each love letters forging the other's name? Tell them both we want to meet them urgently at… at Granny's and then not be around when they show up? Or be hiding behind the counter with our fingers crossed?"

"As I recall," Regina remarked, "he managed to play matchmaker for your parents while your father was still in a coma. I wouldn't underestimate him."

Emma shook her head. "They have to work things out for themselves. We can't mix in."

"No," Regina agreed. " _We_ can't."

Emma glared. "No. No way. There is no way that we can allow Henry to—"

"To what? Record Blue getting some well-deserved comeuppance that Rumple really should have been around to witness?" Regina gave Emma a tight smile. "I agree that Henry shouldn't _actively_ interfere. But at some point, when the two of them can sit down and talk to one another again, you do know what they say about a picture being worth a thousand words. I'd suspect that a video might be worth ten." Seeing the comprehension dawn in Emma's eyes, she continued, "It's one thing to _tell_ Rumple that Belle's still in his corner. But I think it might be a lot more convincing if there's something we can _show_ him. In fact…" Regina smiled. "I think I'm going to ask Henry to send me a copy. Just in case I can find the right time to pass it along to Rumple."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "That's not the only reason, is it?"

Regina's smile grew wider. "No, of course not!" she confirmed, with just the barest hint of the malicious mirth that Emma had witnessed in her in the Enchanted Forest when she'd gone through Zelena's time portal. Then, she added a trifle defensively, "Well, everyone needs a pick-me-up once in a while…"

* * *

Booth stayed with Rumple that night, sleeping in the spare bedroom. Rumple still hadn't had time to craft the dream control charm, but if the younger man could have used it, he didn't mention it the next morning at breakfast. The two walked to the shop and Booth waited for Henry to arrive before leaving for his father's house. When the boy arrived, it was clear to Rumple that he was excited about something, but equally clear that he was trying not to let it show. Rumple didn't pry. He had his own concerns.

Like almost everyone else in town, Marco generally had as little to do with him as possible. And now, the handyman was inviting him to dinner. Perhaps, as August had stated, Marco wanted only to reassure himself that his son wasn't falling in with another bad companion.

The trouble was that Rumple didn't think that there was anything he could say or do that would allay the handyman's fears. He wasn't even sure that he could call those fears unjustified. Virtually every positive relationship he'd enjoyed had ended in betrayal—whether he'd been the betrayer or the betrayed varied, but the end result was consistent: a path of pain, anger, and destruction. If Marco were to make this point and demand to know why this time should be any different, Rumple would be hard-put to come up with an answer that he himself would believe, never mind the handyman.

His gaze fell on the two puppets lying atop one of the display counters in an ungainly heap. He picked them up hurriedly and arranged them for display on one of the shelves along the back wall. Then he stopped. If Marco were to decide to come by to speak with him today, perhaps to attempt to pin down a specific evening for the dinner, he shouldn't have to see—

Rumple carried the two puppets gently into the back room and placed them with care in an empty chest. Booth hadn't wanted to bargain for their restoration, but Marco might. And if that subject should come up…

If that subject should come up, Rumple would have to find some way to deflect it. He didn't have the potion to restore the puppets and making it would require more than just stirring some ingredients in a cauldron. After so many years, the original spell had set and was no longer as malleable as it would have been when first cast. To reverse it now would require magic. Not the magic he'd been pulling from the air and bottling for an emergency either; the potion would require magic from the original caster. In his current condition, Rumple dared not risk giving it. But he couldn't tell that to Marco. The handyman would either pity him… Or recognize an opportunity to avenge what had been done to his parents and Rumple would be powerless to defend himself against argument or blow. Oh, Rumple could protest that he hadn't been the one to administer the potion that had transformed Marco's parents in the first place, but he _had_ created it and given it to Jiminy.

He should have reversed that enchantment ages ago, when he could have. It wasn't as though he'd actually _needed_ the puppets for anything. But it wouldn't have done to have let Jiminy go about telling people that he'd gotten something from the Dark One without paying a price for it. So he'd set one: two puppets for Jiminy's freedom.

Neither man had been satisfied with that bargain, but they'd each made their peace with the results. Rumple had been forced to take different puppets in exchange. Jiminy had spent over half a century as an insect, charged to protect the house of the man he'd inadvertently wronged.

The man who was still suffering from the loss of his family.

A pain Rumple knew all too well.

And now, there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.


	46. Chapter Forty-Six

**Chapter Forty-Six**

There was a note from her father to let her know that Little John had posted Will Scarlet's bail the day before. Emma gave a mental shrug. She'd been getting tired of his company anyway. She had been at the Sheriff Station for about an hour when Belle walked in. "I… uh… came to turn myself in," she murmured, standing on the threshold of the glass-walled private office. "For this morning." Her eyes were lowered, but her face was nearly as pink as Blue's shiner had been the last time Emma had looked at it.

Emma got up from her desk and motioned to Belle to follow her back into the main area. When the librarian headed resolutely for the mugshot wall with its black height lines, Emma hid a smile as she caught up with her and laid a hand on her shoulder to halt her.

"Luckily, Blue isn't pressing charges." When Belle turned back to face her, she shrugged. "I guess that could change; the statute of limitations on assault and battery is two years. But for now, I think the only thing Blue's pressing is a cold steak. Against her eye. At least, I saw Granny getting one out of the freezer for her when Henry and I were leaving."

Belle shook her head. "I feel so… foolish. I… That wasn't me. Except it was." She lowered her eyes once more. "I'm not making sense, am I?"

"The coffee's fresh," Emma invited. "Have a cup. If you want anything stronger, I think the Rabbit Hole opens at two."

"I'm not apologizing to her!" Belle said abruptly.

"Um… okay," Emma said, wondering whether to point out that nobody had suggested she should. But then, as quickly as Belle's temper had seemed to flare, it faded.

"I know I ought to," she mumbled. "But I… If I were to apologize, it would be because I know I can't go about punching people when I'm angry at them, not because I'm sorry I did." She made an irritated sound. "I mean, I'm not sorry she has a black eye now. After what she did, it's the least she deserves. I am sorry that _I_ let my temper get away from me and gave it to her."

Emma regarded her for a moment. Then she opened a desk drawer and rifled through several pamphlets, taking out the two she wanted. She closed the drawer. "Anger management," she said, laying the first one down on the desk before Belle. She managed to keep a straight face as she laid down the second. "Kickboxing." She shrugged at Belle's incredulous look. "You've got a good left cross; you might want to build on that."

Belle smiled reluctantly. "I do know better," she murmured.

"I know."

"How's Rumple?"

Emma considered. "When I left him yesterday, he seemed to be okay. Getting there, anyway. I'm going to swing by the shop on my lunch break, unless Henry calls sooner. I can update you."

"Please." Belle leaned slightly closer. "Emma, I… I'm not sure I can go back to the convent tonight after what I did. Or if I'll even be allowed inside. Could you…?"

Emma nodded, even as she felt panic stir within her. "If I photograph some of the pages and send them to you," she said, "will you be able to look them over?"

"Of course," Belle assured her. "But you know how much we've both had to sift through to find anything worthwhile. I won't be able to do any of that now."

"I know," Emma nodded, fighting to keep those stirrings of panic from overwhelming her. "I'll try on my own. And hopefully, Tink and Astrid will still be willing to help. But it's going to be slow-going, so anything you can do to help from out here will be great."

"I really messed things up, didn't I?"

Emma put a hand on her arm. "Hey. We'll figure this out. We always do, right."

Belle gave her a watery smile. "I guess I'll go open the library," she murmured. "Since I'm free to go?"

"Huh?" Emma blinked. "Oh. Yeah, sure. Go. I'll see you later." She smiled after Belle's retreating back.

It wasn't until the librarian was gone that Emma noticed that she'd taken both pamphlets with her.

* * *

Rumple watched as Hook carefully applied wood stain to one of the repaired display cases. He wasn't fond of the chemical smell, but he imagined it was no more noxious than the lanolin he used for waterproofing, merely different. Satisfied, he went back to dusting the shelves, but after several minutes, he thought he could feel the pirate's eyes boring into his back. When he turned, though, Hook was focused on the wood stain.

He had no sooner resumed his dusting when he sensed that the pirate was observing him once more. He was already agitated enough after August's news. He didn't need any further stress. Without turning around, he murmured, "Is there something you want of me, dearie?"

The silence dragged uncomfortably. Then the pirate said, "If I wanted to… to restore our former truce, would you be amenable?"

Rumple's eyebrow shot up and he turned slowly away from his dusting. "That's a curious question, all things considered," he said carefully. Truthfully, it confused him. He would have understood it better had the pirate been unaware of his condition; fawning and appeasing the powerful when one occupied a position of relative—or worse, absolute—weakness was something with which Rumple was all too familiar. But such was hardly the case now. Regina's actions might have bought him a stay of execution, but Rumple had scant illusions regarding his current condition. He was dying. The pirate had to know that.

"Well," Hook replied, "I suppose I'm a curious person, then." His expression sobered. "I've had occasion to speak with David over the course of the last few days. Some of the things he witnessed, well. Some of what _I_ witnessed, for that matter… I didn't think you had them in you."

Had _what_ in him? The scream that David had surely heard, which had burst forth during Rumple's tumble over the embankment? The blood he'd lost to branches, thorns, and rocky ground? "Go on," he said, as much to cover his confusion as to encourage.

Hook sighed. "We can debate which of us started our original feud, I suppose. Whether it dates to our first encounter or our second. Whether I should have sent away a woman I'd already half fallen in love with when she pleaded with me to carry her away from a life she no longer wished to be a part of…"

Rumple realized that the pirate was choosing his words carefully, doing his best to make his point without the undue twisting of a knife or the sprinkling of unneeded salt in a wound which was a good deal rawer than Rumple had realized until that moment. Perhaps, that was what made him say, "I meant what I said at our second meeting. I could have countenanced her leaving me easily enough. But to abandon her son…"

"She regretted that," Hook replied quietly. He'd gotten up from the display case and taken a step closer to Rumple.

"Her regret didn't make Bae's life any better."

"I know. But regardless of when our quarrel began, we had put it behind us… until I brought it to the fore. And since I was the one who broke that truce, I suppose it falls to me to restore it. If I can."

"Afraid I'll haunt you from beyond the grave?"

Hook shook his head. "You didn't last time." He sighed. "Emma was right. We can't be forever at each other's throats as though we were the only two involved."

"Had you restrained your acts of vengeance, directing them at me alone and leaving Belle out of them," Rumple said icily, "I might have found them easier to forgive."

Hook looked away. "I suppose I can understand that."

Rumple wasn't finished speaking. "Nevertheless, had it not been for certain… recent and unpleasant experiences, despite our history, when a way to free myself from the dagger presented itself, I might have sought out other options instead of moving directly to heart-crushing." He looked away. "There are times when such drastic measures might be called for. In hindsight, I'm not certain that was one of them. Not without further investigation, at any rate."

Hook blinked. And then he pressed his lips together tightly and nodded. Staring fixedly at a fresh nick on the counter, he murmured, "In light of those 'recent and unpleasant experiences,' I suspect that my recent attempts to blackmail you were… worse form than I'd realized. For Elsa's sake, I might yet have made the initial foray. But I think I should have refrained from commencing that whole… business with my hand. In hindsight," he added, meeting Rumple's eyes once more.

Rumple's eyebrows shot up. A faint smile passed quickly over his face and he gave the pirate a slight nod of acknowledgment. He hesitated for another moment, weighing the options and their probable costs. Then, decision made, he reached down behind the counter and came up with the sack that he'd brought with him from the back room on his first day back in the shop after their return from New York.

"What's that?" Hook demanded.

Rumple held up one hand. He turned toward one of the far counters. "Henry?"

A moment later, his grandson's head poked up from the display he'd been polishing. "Yes?"

Rumple smiled at the hint of excitement in the young man's demeanor. "If you'll be so good," he scribbled an order on a piece of paper, "as to go to Granny's and procure this for me…" He turned to Hook. "Captain, did you bring your lunch with you today?"

Hook blinked. "I… no. I didn't."

"Well, tell Henry what it is you'd like, then." Without pausing, he turned back to his grandson.

"And get something for yourself as well," he continued, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. "And Henry. I'm well aware that Granny's will be busy at this hour; I really should have ordered in advance."

"So… you want me to ask them to rush it for you, Grandpa?"

Gold shook his head. "Lack of planning on my part doesn't constitute an emergency on theirs. Don't be concerned if it takes more time than you'd planned to return here."

Henry waited until he'd taken Hook's lunch order before he turned worried eyes to his grandfather. "I… Is it safe to…?"

Rumple shrugged. "I imagine the captain can ring emergency services as easily as you can, should the situation warrant." He was taking a risk, he supposed, but if Hook truly had murder on his mind and his talk of truces was only meant to catch Rumple off-guard, then the pirate certainly wouldn't allow his plans to be thwarted by a boy not quite thirteen years old. And Henry certainly didn't have the fighting skills to take on a man more than twice his age, not one who'd spent decades with a sword in one hand and a hook in place of the other. Instinct told Rumple that the pirate's words had been sincere. Pragmatism told him that if they hadn't been, it was best to send his grandson away for his own safety. If it came down to it, Rumple knew that while his magic might be killing him, he would still call upon it if it would save his life. He'd be fine. And if his heart did fail him, there wasn't much anyone could do about that anyway.

"All right," Hook said, once the bell over the door jangled behind Henry's departure. "What's this about? Why'd you send Henry off? What's in the bag?"

Rumple hesitated. "You'll recall," he said, reminding himself firmly that he had nothing to be nervous about and hoping that he was still projecting the unruffled demeanor that could so infuriate the pirate, "that Emma made several suggestions of ways in which we could settle matters between us?"

"Yes," Hook said guardedly. "But I thought—"

"Oh, come now, captain. As much as I agree that it's time we put the past behind us, do you really imagine we can shake hands and end an enmity that's persisted for going on two centuries so easily?" He shook his head. "It will require time and effort on both our parts. And while my time may be drawing short, in light of certain measures that others have taken, well, perhaps there's a bit more remaining to me than previously thought. So. Given the possibility that I may yet survive to attend some of those functions that Emma mentioned previously, and given that our truce may not bear up under certain stressors…" He picked up the burlap pouch and picked at the drawstring knot.

"When Henry was, perhaps, eight or nine—no older—he approached me with a business proposal."

"A business proposal?" Hook echoed, frowning as he tried to fathom the turn that their discussion was taking.

"Oh, yes. You see, Regina chose not to give him regular spending money, instead disbursing funds only when she knew the use to which he meant to put them. Which did have its drawbacks…"

* * *

_He was in the back when the bell over the front door jangled and he set down the delicate stained glass sun catcher that he'd been assessing and called that he'd be there directly. When he emerged from his office, at first, he thought that he'd only imagined the bell, for the shop appeared to be empty. And then, he saw the top of the boy's head barely higher than the counter._

_It was rare for any child to come into his shop, particularly when they were unaccompanied by an adult. Still, he made it a point to learn each name, for all that he seldom had occasion to use one. But he knew the dark-haired, slightly-nervous boy—who should have been in school at this hour—at once._

_"It's Henry, isn't it?" he said with more warmth in his voice than he would have spared on the boy's mother._

_The boy straightened his shoulders and tried unsuccessfully to feign confidence. "You buy stuff, right?" he blurted, belatedly tacking on a 'Mr. Gold,' at the end of his query._

_He smiled. "On occasion," he replied with a genial chuckle. "Depending on whether I expect to be able to resell it. Why do you ask?"_

_Henry hesitated. "I want to buy something. For my mother. For her birthday."_

_"Admirable," Gold allowed. "But you were asking_ me _if_ I _would buy something. I don't think you mean for me to purchase the gift, hmm?"_

_Henry shook his head. "I haven't got any money," he confessed in a mumble. "If I ask Mom for some, she'll want to know what it's for. I want to surprise her. So, I thought…" He hesitated for a moment. Then he held up a cloth bag. "I never play with this," he said. "It's only good for two people and… and Mom's always too busy."_

_Gold regarded the boy with something that verged on sadness. "Have you no friends, then?"_

_The boy shrugged._

_"Well," he extended his hand for the bag, "let's have a look, then."_

_"All the pieces are there," Henry said as he passed it over. "And it's almost never been used." There was a beseeching note in his voice. "How much would you give me for it?"_

_Gold considered. Really, he shouldn't be conducting business with a child. And gently-used or not, this wasn't something he would generally stock. But there was something about the boy, something about the half-hopeful, half-resigned look in the youngster's eyes and the fearful courage of his demeanor, which almost stirred a memory in him. He'd known another boy like that a long time ago, though he couldn't recall a face or a name or anything now, save for a profound sense of loss and regret. He frowned, still debating with himself. Then he motioned the boy over to one of the other display cases. "I won't give you money for this," he said. "But you may take your pick of any of these bracelets, if you like." He gestured to the velvet-lined display tray. "Knowing your mother," he added, "I think she'd be most partial to one of these designs." The three he pointed to were higher-end, but sterling silver jewelry didn't run especially pricy. And, when the mayor would storm back here berating him for appropriating her son's toys without consulting her first, well, he would return the item to her care and write off the bracelet as an acceptable loss._

_He might have owned the land on which the town resided, but antagonizing the person who actually ran the place was a risky venture. While he had no need to curry favor with the mayor, he'd let her keep the bauble. It would be a gift from both of them._

_The boy was frowning, though. "Do you…" He ventured hesitantly. "Do you have slippers? I-I was hoping to get her those instead."_

_Gold's eyebrows shot up. "Young man," he said, still smiling a bit to blunt the tartness in his voice, "I deal in antiquities. Curiosities. Odds and ends. If it's footwear you're after, why come here? Aschenputtel's should stock what you want._

_"They won't let me pay with that," Henry replied simply, pointing to the sack in Gold's hand._

_"Ah." His smile grew slightly broader. "I take your point. Well. If this is the only currency you possess," he replied, "wait here." He turned on his heel to return to the back office. "I'll… see what I can find."_

_It no longer surprised him that, when he wanted an item outside his usual inventory, it somehow seemed to turn up in the back. He would have ascribed it to magic, had he been the sort to believe in such things. But no, he was a businessman, grounded in reality. Even when he immediately spotted a pair of purple Dearfoams that he was certain hadn't been in the cubbyhole shelves yesterday…_

* * *

"And you exchanged the slippers for the contents of that bag?" Hook asked.

"That I did," Rumple smiled. "I never put them out for sale, of course. Not my usual stock and," he shrugged, "I fully expected Regina to come charging in here to berate me for what she would certainly have seen as my taking advantage of her son. That or for Henry to return and, somewhat shamefacedly, tell me that his mother disapproved of the means by which he'd procured the gift and ask to return the slippers. In my mind, the deal was never binding and so I kept his pledge."

Hook shook his head. "You went into a deal prepared to allow the other party to back out without penalty, Dark One? Why do I find that difficult to believe?"

Rumple sighed. "The Dark Curse _was_ designed to alter memories and personalities."

"Ah. All right," the pirate said. "I'll admit my curiosity has been piqued. What was it you took in exchange for those slippers?"

"A game," Rumple was smiling once more. "One I suspect you must have played back in our land as well, though you probably knew it by the name Sink the Fleet."

Hook released a startled laugh. "Now that," he admitted, "is a name that takes me back a number of years. Yes, I'm familiar."

"I thought," Rumple said, with a smile that, for once, held no trace of a sneer, "that my challenging you to chess would be much like your challenging me to a duel. In each case, one party would have a clear advantage that it would scarcely be sporting to press. But this," he reached into the bag and pulled out a cardboard box, "should present a more level playing field." Although his tone was affable enough, there was a serious note beneath his banter. "If we're to do this in good faith, we'd best start out with a fair challenge."

Hook examined the box with a raised eyebrow. "So, in this land, it goes by Battleship?"

"It does. Would you care to review the instructions and ensure that all is as you recall?"

* * *

Belle wasn't sure what sort of morning she was having. She'd woken up to the sun shining through her window and the chirps and burbles of the sparrows, pigeons, and other non-migratory birds. And for a moment, she'd smiled before the usual ache set in. She'd washed and dressed numbly and decided that she didn't want to eat breakfast in solitude. It wasn't a long walk to Granny's and although winter mornings in Maine were cold, there had been no wind to bluster and whip through her coat and make it feel frostier than it was.

And then, she'd spotted Blue and all of the anger she'd been sitting on since the evening before, when Emma had told her what had happened at the hospital, all of the frustration and rage and helplessness and self-loathing she'd been carrying with her since that horrible night in New York, from realizing just how badly—and how undeservedly—she'd hurt Rumple, through realizing that he neither blamed her nor wanted anything further to do with her, through finding out that Zelena had nearly killed him on the other side of the town line, through her heated words to her father, through everything else she'd only learned about second-hand… It had been as though she'd compacted all of her emotions into one solid punch and released it at the most recent—and convenient—deserving target. And it had felt _good_. And then, almost at once, she'd been ashamed of herself. She knew better than to go around hitting people or yelling at them in public. But then, Blue had deserved it, not just for what she'd done to Rumple (which was bad enough, even if it had been motivated mainly by ignorance) but to August. As Belle had tried to explain to Emma, she wasn't sorry for hitting Blue, not exactly. It was more that she was sorry that she'd behaved in a manner that she generally would have thought beneath her. Even if Blue had earned what she'd received and then some. Even if Belle thought she might do it again under similar circumstances. Even if she suspected that the main reason she was feeling shame was because she was still afraid that others would think less of her for her actions.

Still, she'd tried to the right thing and turn herself in to face the consequences of her outburst, only to find out that there probably wouldn't be any.

Belle wasn't sure what to make of Emma's behavior. Emma was her friend. She'd been… nice, but she probably would have been nice about arresting her, too. But if Emma hadn't commended her actions, she hadn't condemned them either. In fact, Belle had the strangest feeling that Emma might have actually understood.

Nobody had come into the library today. She'd actually looked over the pamphlets Emma had offered her. If she was planning to go around punching people she probably _needed_ to follow up on the anger management one, however embarrassing she might find it. Then again, she couldn't really think of anyone else she wanted to punch. And as for the other one…

_More than just a combat sport, kickboxing is also a full body workout that combines a variety of fighting styles and techniques to give you a well-rounded and complete cardiovascular workout…_

Belle's lips twitched in a half-smile as she pushed that pamphlet aside. There were some experiences she was just going to have to pass up. Meanwhile…

Meanwhile, since nobody appeared to be coming into the library, and she didn't feel like being here either, and her little stunt today had just about guaranteed that she couldn't go back to the convent, and, it being the weekend, Henry was certain to be at the shop…

…She was going to head back to the sorcerer's mansion and see whether she couldn't learn any more about Nimuë. She grabbed her coat and cast about looking for the 'closed' sign to hang on the library door, as she absently tucked the kickboxing pamphlet back into her purse.

* * *

After Belle left, Emma found the rest of the morning a bit _too_ uneventful. Which didn't make sense. She'd been looking for some quiet time to finish up the reports and other paperwork without some new villain turning up to wreck Doc's Miata or smash the tower clock's face. Now that she had it, the hum from the water cooler was getting on her nerves, the birdsong outside the window resembled a drone, and she realized that she'd been reading the same line of the same report for nearly ten minutes and still didn't know what it said.

At least, it seemed that Gold and Killian could be civil to one another now. More civil than Belle and Blue, in any case. That was something. If it could last.

She glanced down at the report again, started and reached for the whiteout. When was the last time she'd doodled in the margins of something official, she demanded of herself as she quickly painted over the abstract swirls and loops.

She looked at the clock. The morning was nearly gone and the mountain of paperwork barely touched. She sighed. It was a sunny day and the temperature was only slightly below freezing. If she started walking now, she could be at Gold's shop in time for lunch.

Emma made one more half-hearted attempt at finishing the report before she shoved it back on top of the pile with a resigned groan and pushed her chair away from the desk. Her knee and back felt a bit stiff, a mild reminder of that tumble down the embankment last week. On the whole, though, she knew she was mending well. She hadn't even needed the painkillers for the last couple of days. Even so, she kept her eyes on the sidewalk as she made her way to the shop, taking care that she might spot any ice patches before she inadvertently trod on one and risked undoing the healing that had already set in.

* * *

Emma could feel the tension in the air as she opened the shop door. The jangling bell did nothing to defuse it. In fact, neither man looked up from the counter top. Killian's back was to her, obscuring her view of whatever it was he was examining, but she could just make out the top of Gold's head over the pirate's shoulder.

"Good, you're here," Henry said, taking the feather duster he was holding and running to the wastebasket. "I'm starving! Glad I just got a tuna sandwich for me; _their_ stuff is getting cold."

Emma blinked in confusion as Henry lowered the feathered end of the duster partway into the wastebasket and shook it gently. "What?"

Henry shook his head. "I came back from Granny's and they were doing _that_ ," he said, gesturing toward the counter with some exasperation. "Grandpa—both grandpas—told me it's rude to start eating before anyone else is ready, so I've been waiting for them to finish. Only when they did, they decided to go for best of three and then best of five, and they're still on game four!"

"Game four?" Emma repeated blankly. "Henry, what are you talking about?" She started for the counter taking hurried strides without waiting for his answer. Halfway there, she realized that each man had a hinged plastic case open before him. The glimpse she could see of Killian's showed a number of white and red pegs inserted into both the top and bottom halves.

"Miss. C-6," Gold intoned, his face showing the faintest smirk.

Killian blew air out between clenched teeth. "Hit. G-9"

"Afraid that's a miss," Gold returned, the smirk a bit more pronounced. "C-7."

"Miss," Killian said. "D-1."

Gold sighed. "Well. You've managed to score a hit, after all."

"Battleship?" Emma exclaimed.

Both men took their eyes from the game and looked up at her.

"As I recall," Gold said, a bit too innocently, "you did ask us to find a non-lethal way to settle our differences. One which your son was all too happy to provide me some years ago. Am I to understand that you'd prefer we find some other method?"

Emma looked at Henry.

"I was nine!" her son protested.

Emma shook her head. "Okay, you guys," she grinned. "So, what are the stakes?"

Both men blinked. "Stakes?" Gold repeated. "I… we agreed to do a practice round or two before setting those and…"

"Did we ever…?" Killian started to say, as Gold continued speaking.

"…I-I don't believe we…" He sighed. "Well, it hardly seems sporting to name them now, when the captain is so close to losing."

"I beg your pardon?" Killian growled, but there was no real heat in it.

"So gratifying to hear you beg," Gold chortled, but absent the mocking sneer Emma was used to hearing in his voice whenever he addressed Killian.

"I think it's your move, Cro…" Killian broke off in mid-word. "Sorry," he mumbled, almost burying his head in the blue plastic case.

Gold blinked. And then for an instant, something seemed to soften in his eyes. "Uh… D-1," he said quickly, crisply.

"Miss," Hook replied, sounding shocked. Then, "F-9."

Rumple's eyebrows shot up and a guarded smile passed briefly over his face as he returned, "Miss. D-6."

"Hit. D-2."

Emma trotted back to her son. "C'mon, kid," she said motioning to the bag on the counter. "Dig in. "I think they're going to be a while."

And the way things seemed to be going, she seriously hoped so.

* * *

The two men were still at it when Emma headed back to the sheriff station an hour later. "Just keep finding stuff to do, kid," she murmured. "And remind Killian when it's a quarter to five, if he hasn't noticed. We're going out for supper tonight."

Henry smiled. "By 'we,' do you mean—?"

"Just him and me this time, kid. But your grandparents are making pizza."

Henry's smile dimmed slightly. "You know grandma's going to make it with a whole wheat crust, right? And she'll probably put salmon and spinach on it—"

"—Because one the books she's been reading on best foods for nursing mothers put salmon and spinach on the list," Emma nodded with a commiserating smile of her own. "I know. At least, she probably won't try adding oranges and blueberries; they're on that list, too."

Henry laughed a little. "Yeah, that'd be pretty gross. She'll probably serve those for dessert," he added, "but that's okay."

"Well, if you get there early enough, maybe talk to your grandfather. I've got a feeling he might be able to convince Mom to make one pie with toppings you and he both like."

She glanced over to where the two men were setting up for another game. "Is that five?" she asked.

"I think it's six," Henry said. "They must be going for best of seven, now."

Emma sighed tolerantly. "Just remind Killian at a quarter to five. And call me if anything goes wrong."

As she picked her coat up off the counter where she'd dropped it, she heard Killian fire the first salvo.

"A-6…"

* * *

Belle closed the book angrily and sat staring at it. If the story she'd just read was to be believed, then she wasn't sure what she was supposed to think about Merlin. Going by the text she'd just pored over, Merlin had fallen in love with a woman who had chosen power and vengeance over love and forgiveness.

And then, realizing what she was, he had created the dagger and tethered her to it, hoping that with time, his love could bring her back. But if it could not, then at least he would have the means of preventing her from realizing her dark plots.

And now, Belle wasn't sure what to think. Maybe, she reflected, if she wrote down the main points that troubled her, a solution would present itself. Henry had been taking notes and there was a pile of blank letter-sized paper by his chair that he'd been using for scrap. She took a sheet now and a nearby pen. And then, she took a moment to try to decide how to begin.

"Point one," she said, speaking aloud as she wrote down her thoughts, "Merlin is a practitioner of Light Magic. Point two, Merlin created the Dark One."

Belle crossed that out. "Point two, after Nimuë darkened her soul, Merlin tethered her to the dagger to," she frowned, trying to recollect what she'd just read without having to open the book and try to find the right page a second time. "…To control and prevent her reign of terror." She sniffed bitterly. "Now, that sounds familiar."

And that was what was bothering her. Controlling and preventing. Maybe Merlin had had the wisdom to wield such a blade only when absolutely necessary. But hadn't he spared a thought for what might happen if such an artifact might fall into other hands? Hands like the Duke of the Frontlands'. Hands like Zelena's. "Hands like mine," she whispered.

And _had_ Merlin had that wisdom? Or, like Belle, had he been trying to _force_ Nimuë to make better choices instead of working with his True Love to try to understand why she felt she had to make the choices she was making and help her see another path?

Stopping Rumple from crushing Killian's heart had been one thing: Belle didn't see how she could have stood by and allowed that to happen. But the visit to the Snow Queen's lair had been something else. It had been an ironclad conviction that her way, her desire, was correct. And without discussing it with anyone else, without bothering to confirm whether compelling Rumple in _that_ instant had been warranted, she'd just gone ahead and done what she'd wanted, convinced that her need to rectify what she'd done to Anna overrode any danger, any reluctance, _any right of Rumple's to refuse her_. She sucked in her breath.

"Point three, whatever face you put on it, in creating the dagger, Merlin turned his True Love into his slave."

Belle winced. In using the dagger, she'd done the same thing.

"Question one," she wrote, "Was Merlin justified?"

She hesitated. Then, below that line, she wrote, "Was," crossed that out and wrote, "After he created the dagger, was Merlin still Good?"

She frowned. Then she crossed out the word "created" and wrote "used" above it.

And then she sat and stared at what she'd written. "After using the dagger that first time," she whispered, "even though it wasn't the real one, after using the dagger without Rumple's permission… _Am I_?"

Belle closed her eyes and leaned back, tilting the front legs of her straight-backed wooden chair several inches off the ground as she rocked slowly forward and then back again.

She'd thought she knew what Good was. But recently, she'd come to see that Good people could invest innocent souls with Darkness in order to preserve their own offspring's Light. Good people could abandon small children to fend for themselves, right when they most needed help and guidance. Good people could control and enslave and use love to justify their actions.

So.

At what point did Good cease to be Good?

Where did one draw the line?

And wherever it was, Belle wondered, had she already crossed it?


	47. Chapter Forty-Seven

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

"Battleship?" Snow exclaimed, sounding as though she was trying hard not to laugh.

Emma gave her mother a rueful smile. "Battleship. And they seemed to be having fun." She gave a small chuckle of her own. "It's a good thing Henry didn't try selling Gold his Monopoly game; I remember I always ended up _hating_ my opponents before we got halfway through." Not to mention all of those times someone had gotten mad, thrown down their money and title deed cards, and stalked off mid-game.

Her mother had a speculative gleam in her eyes. "I wonder…" she said slowly.

Emma wondered why she suddenly felt nervous. "Wonder what?" she asked, hoping she wouldn't regret it.

"How a community game night would go over," Snow said, smiling thoughtfully. "I bet a lot of people in Storybrooke have board games lying around that they haven't played in ages. If they were to dust them off…"

Emma considered. "You know," she said, thinking about the scene she'd witnessed earlier, "that's actually not a bad idea."

For as long as she'd seen Gold and Killian together, she'd always noted the tension between them. Sometimes it was in the background, surfacing only in barbed jibes and insults. Sometimes it seethed and bubbled to the fore. It had been there today as well, but notwithstanding its presence, she didn't think she'd ever seen both men so relaxed in each other's company.

"I just thought that small groups of… oh, two to four players… might be a little less intimidating than a community potluck," Snow added. "At least, for someone who might never have felt welcome at one of those."

Emma blinked. Sometimes, she reflected, her mother was a lot more insightful that most people gave her credit for.

There came a knock on the door just then and Emma grinned and got up to admit Killian.

* * *

"I have to admit," Emma smiled as Killian held the restaurant door open for her a few minutes later, "I'm impressed."

"What? A pirate can't be chivalrous?" Killian asked with exaggerated innocence.

"You know that's not what I mean!" Emma laughed as they approached the hostess. Once the beaming young woman had shown the two of them to an empty booth, Emma slid into the chair across from Killian and, still smiling a little, asked, "So, are things… okay now? Between you and Gold?"

Killian hesitated. "Today, they are," he said slowly. "Leave it at that for now, love." He smiled. "Things were quiet at the sheriff station, I take it?"

Emma shrugged. "Well, with Will out on bail, yeah. I mean, as exciting as Storybrooke can get, if you're talking about non-magical criminal activity. I think this town sees less of that in a year than New York used to in a day."

"Used to?"

"A few years back, the mayor and the police force managed to get crime under control, but before that?" Emma shook her head. "One time, I ran away from a foster home in Boston and hopped a bus to Manhattan. I…" she shuddered. "I was eleven. I no sooner stepped off the bus than some creep came up to me and offered…" Her hands, clenched about the edge of the table, were sweating now. "Well, he actually offered me a hot meal and a place to stay, but something about him set off my 'creeper' alert and when he told me that it was free and he'd make sure I was safe, well, my superpower told me otherwise." She shook her head. "I took a chance on a shelter. They called social services. At the time, I was furious. But later, when I realized what could have happened…" She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. And a moment later, she felt a warm pressure on the hand and opened her eyes to find Killian looking at her with raw empathy.

"So," the pirate said bleakly, "it wasn't only in the Enchanted Forest that a child alone would vulnerable to the likes of that. I hadn't thought so, but I suppose I'd hoped."

Emma frowned. "It wasn't… legal, there, was it?"

Killian shook his head. "No, not unless the person doing the procuring was either acting behalf of a powerful knight or baron, or the knight or baron themselves. But _that_ happened far more frequently than you might think." He shook his head. "In retrospect, I suppose, I was lucky as well. When my father's criminal past caught up with him, he only sold Liam and me into servitude to pay off the debt he owed."

"He what?" Emma gasped. "Sheesh, did _anyone_ in the Enchanted Forest have a normal childhood, or was everyone, orphaned, enslaved, abandoned, and/or abused?"

"Well, your parents were only _half_ -orphaned in their childhood," Killian said, thinking. "As I recall, their real problems came later. All the same, love, you make a fair point. While I have, indeed, heard of those coming from happier circumstances, when it comes to the companions of my craft? Well, suffice to say that there are reasons why most of my crew is in no hurry to return to the lands of their birth. A pirate's life tends to appeal to those hailing from backgrounds such as you've just described."

Emma pushed aside her menu. "Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore," she murmured. "Could we, maybe, just… walk around outside a little?"

Killian nodded. "Aye, love," he said gently. "I think a bit of air might do us both good."

* * *

They walked by the lake, hand in hand, saying little. Words were unnecessary. Both were lost in their memories and in each other. For a long time, Emma had kept her walls up around Killian. At first, she'd distrusted him. Later, when she realized that she reciprocated the warmer feelings he'd said he had for her, she'd still maintained a reserve, certain that he'd fallen in love with the tough, capable, take-no-prisoners façade she'd projected (or, tried to) at their first meeting. The lost girl, the confused young woman who constantly felt out of her depth, the lonely, frightened person she'd been once and who still seemed to lurk inside her? Emma had kept those aspects of herself hidden for a long time.

She'd known too many people in her life who would have exploited such vulnerabilities, had they suspected they existed. And for all his professions of love and claims that he wanted to know more about her life and her dreams, Emma hadn't thought that Killian could truly understand what she'd been through.

She'd never thought that he might be keeping quiet about pain in his own past. She'd known about Milah. She hadn't known about the rest. But she had some idea of the risk he'd taken in disclosing it now. And realizing how much he trusted her made her feel safer about opening up about her own issues.

Tonight, though, she didn't have to say anything further. Tonight, she could relax.

She was smiling when they parted ways on the steps of the convent.

* * *

In the Sorcerer's mansion, Belle pushed away the volume she'd just finished skimming with a weary sigh and carried it back to where she'd taken it. There was another book about Merlin and Nimuë on the same shelf and Belle took it down with a sense of dread. It had been hard for her to recognize how badly she'd hurt Rumple. Harder still for her to realize that she had a dark side of her own, to which she'd at times succumbed independent of anything Rumple might have done. And now, she was coming to see that the people whom she'd most aspired to emulate had committed deeds that she would have deemed 'dark,' and yet hadn't seemed to have forfeited the right to consider themselves 'heroes,' or at the very least, 'good'.

Even Snow. Even Blue. Even Merlin.

And now, Belle wasn't sure if she felt up to learning about some new misdeed or atrocity perpetuated by one of the most powerful purveyors of Light magic who had ever lived.

But Merlin was connected to Nimuë and something about that connection might help Rumple. Rumple, not the Dark One—at least, that was the theory. Else, why would Nimuë's memories be blocked from him now?

A cynical voice inside her told her that there might be any number of other reasons. Each Dark One had been an individual with a unique personality. Maybe… maybe the Nimuë part of the Dark One just didn't get along with Rumple and didn't feel like sharing her past with him.

Belle didn't seriously believe that for a moment. To hear Emma tell it, Nimuë's silence was a new development.

Or, at least, that was what Emma believed.

_Or what Rumple wanted her to believe._

It didn't matter, Belle told herself firmly. She'd been sifting through mountains of chaff for days, hoping to garner a few kernels of useful information. If this new book was a waste of time, she'd know it soon enough. Meanwhile, she was here and so was the book and it wasn't as though she had access to the books at the convent that she'd been poring over earlier. And she had only herself to blame for _that_ development.

She opened the book to the first page and let her eyes skim over the lines of text, scanning for any useful gleanings.

Five pages later, her pulse quickened. She reached for another piece of scrap paper and began jotting down notes at a feverish pace. An hour passed, then two, but Belle read on. She wasn't taking notes anymore; she didn't need to. There was no way that she was about to forget any of this.

Finally, three hours and twenty-one minutes after she'd opened the book, she closed it. Her heart was still racing and her shoulders and legs ached from sitting still for so long. But she stayed in her seat for a bit longer. Long enough to thumb back through the pages and photograph certain passages. She sent those to Emma and waited for a response.

It didn't come.

She smothered a yawn and glanced at her watch. It was past one in the morning. Belle shook her head with some dismay. Emma was almost certainly asleep by now. This would need to keep until daylight.

She sent one more text to Emma. Then she carefully slid the book into her tote bag, donned her coat, and made her way into the moonlit night.

* * *

Rumple wished that his inability to sleep was solely due to the fact that Dark Ones didn't need much rest as a rule. That was to be expected, and it might even be a hopeful sign that he was truly recovering from his magical ailment.

Unfortunately, he knew better.

During those first weeks and months after Bae had left him, Rumple had been despondent. Alone in a way he hadn't been for years, and still fighting the voices in his head, half-hoping that if he could somehow resist their blandishments, some way, somehow, Bae might find a way back to him—or he to Bae.

His love of power hadn't yet come to consume him to the degree that it later would. He'd chosen to become the Dark One for the power to save his son, to save his land, and in short, to become the hero he'd never been able to be. But behind it all, there had been a yearning for connection, for friendship, for, at the very least, not being an object of pity and scorn. And while his magic could not command friendship, he'd thought that it might help.

By then, he'd mastered the glamor spell and, much like Zoso before him, he'd taken to disguising himself and frequenting the main roads. Sometimes, he would come across a traveler whose wagon had run off the road or become stuck in the mud and he would render assistance, keeping his magic close, so that it wasn't apparent that he was using any. Sometimes, he would use his magic to run the wagon off the road or into a rut in order to give himself that same opportunity.

Most of the time, the grateful wayfarer would offer to share a meal with him and, for an hour or so, Rumple could feel as though he belonged somewhere. And then, invariably, he would say something that would make his new companion edge away nervously. Or someone would jostle him and make him drop his plate and he would quickly, instinctively, turn them to stone. Or to whichever other form caught his fancy. Generally, his preferences tended toward pigs and snails. And then, it did no good to reverse the enchantment. The first few times, he had, mumbling hasty apologies, but the damage was already done. The travelers usually fled screaming. Occasionally, they would try to attack him with an object they believed could defeat him—usually some artifact or other of silver or cold iron. Some simpleton had tried garlic once, completely forgetting—or overlooking—the fact that moments earlier, the two had been sharing a pot of stew that had been liberally flavored with the bulbous plant and that Rumple had, in fact, consumed two helpings of it.

It had been centuries since he'd been invited into someone's home to partake of a meal. And on this occasion, the meal was to be a test of whether he was a fit companion for his host's son. Rumple wasn't sure whether it was more humiliating to undergo such a trial, or to fail it. Because he didn't see any way in which he could pass it.

He'd used his power as a substitute for everything of real value in his life. And over time, he had succeeded in driving away or destroying everyone and everything that truly mattered. Marco was right to be concerned for his son. As much as Rumple had been trying to be on his best behavior, such attempts had never lasted long in the past. No matter how hard he fought his worser nature, in the end, it would win out. It always had before. And stress generally hastened that unhappy result.

He got up and walked down the hall to the spare bedroom, pausing just outside the half-opened door. He hadn't argued when Whale had insisted that someone else stay with him at all hours; it was an acceptable price for being out of the hospital, away from one person who could cheerfully kill him, and at least one person whom he could cheerfully kill. Rumple peered into the other room and nodded to himself. Booth's nightmares weren't troubling him tonight; the younger man's breathing was slow and regular.

Rumple tiptoed back to his own room, got back into bed, rolled over, and wrapped the pillow around his head, his face frozen in a mask of misery. He didn't want to lose Booth's friendship, but one way or another, it was going to happen. He would say or do the wrong thing. Or Marco's mind was already mostly made up, but the toymaker was extending the invitation for form's sake. Or Rumple could turn down the invitation and Marco would believe that he had chosen to avoid a test he was sure to fail. Which was true, of course, but Rumple didn't want it to be so obvious.

He dared not accept the invitation, but he dared not turn it down either.

He screwed his eyes tightly closed as though doing so would allow him to drift off to sleep. It didn't work.

Rumple turned his face into the pillow. He had no idea how to deal with this situation, but he knew that however way he did would prove disastrous.

* * *

Rumple wasn't the only person having a hard time falling asleep that night. Snow had tossed and turned for over an hour before nodding off, but scarcely fifteen minutes later, Neal's cries roused her. She got up, not quite able to suppress a loud groan.

"I can get up," David mumbled.

"No, it's okay," Snow sighed. "I wasn't really sleeping."

She'd just given Neal his bottle when David came into the kitchen. "You're not still having nightmares from the sleeping curse, are you?"

Snow shook her head. "Not for years, now," she sighed. "I guess I'm still upset about Blue."

David sat down at the table across from her. "I'd say that's understandable," he said.

"I think I understand now why Emma was so upset. I mean, I understood it before, but it didn't really hit home until just a little while ago. I mean…" Snow shook her head again. Her gaze flickered involuntarily to the closed door of the other bedroom, but if Emma was awake and able to hear their conversation, there was no way to tell. "If we'd learned that Rumpelstiltskin had decided to make someone think they were losing their mind," Snow continued, "or that he'd taken in a child for some reason and then abandoned them, or… or thrown them into something they couldn't handle and sat back and watched, we'd be horrified. Furious, even. But, well, we know him. At least, I thought we did. We know what he was like back in our land. And here. Until he came back, and now I don't think I know anything anymore. The way he's been acting since his return…" Her voice trailed off. "But Blue? I never would have dreamed that she'd…"

"I know," David said.

"We can't just let this stand," Snow said.

"I know."

"But… but what can we do? We can't lock her up or-or banish her. Well. We could, but I don't want to go that far. But we can't just pretend things didn't happen either."

David didn't respond at once. Instead, he sat frowning, lost in thought. Then his eyebrows lifted. "A lot of her actions stem from one simple issue: she doesn't—or didn't—know how to deal with disagreement. Underneath everything she's done, I think I get a sense that she thinks she knows best for all concerned and if they don't follow her direction, she just… writes them off."

"That sounds pretty accurate," Snow nodded, shifting Neal in her arms and adjusting the angle of the bottle.

"And yet," David said slowly, "her magic _is_ light, and she _is_ loyal to you, and she _does_ enjoy helping others."

Snow's eyes narrowed. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

David smiled. "I think that Blue needs to learn to be a little more patient and understanding with us… mortals," he said. "If she can prove that she's achieved that, then maybe it'll be easier to give her another chance."

"And how can she prove something like that?" Snow demanded.

Although David was still smiling, his eyes were deadly serious. "You know, I may just have a few ideas…"

* * *

Emma overslept the next morning—an understandable, if annoying occurrence. Although she mostly felt that she was back to her old self after her hospital stay, she knew that it would take a bit more time before her recovery was complete. The last couple of days had been mentally and emotionally exhausting. And between sharing some of the more painful details of her past with Killian, his reciprocating with the details of his own youth, _and_ the hours she'd spent in the convent library trying to find something useful and hating having to pester Astrid every five minutes for a translation or elucidation (the fairy hadn't seemed at all put out, but Emma still felt guilty about it) had evidently been draining experiences for her. So, perhaps it wasn't all that surprising that she'd headed for her room almost as soon as she'd come home that night, stopping only to adjust the blankets on her sleeping son's bed before getting into her sports jersey nightshirt and falling into bed herself.

When she opened her eyes again, it was past ten the next morning and the apartment was empty. Her mother was at school, as was her son. There was a note on the table to let her know that her father was at the sheriff station and Granny was looking after Neal. When she picked it up, she saw a second note beneath it. This one was from her father, asking her to call him when she had the chance. Apparently, he'd made good on his earlier remark about making up a rotation for keeping an eye on Gold and he was taking tonight's shift.

Emma smiled at that. It hadn't been so long ago that 'keeping an eye on Gold' would have meant something entirely different. Her smile dimmed slightly when she remembered that, for most of the town, it probably still did. Well. That couldn't be helped. Right now, her father was trying to give Gold another chance and he was asking for her advice on how to go about doing so without accidentally making matters worse. She could call him as soon as she'd had her morning coffee.

She reached for her phone and realized that she had a new message.

Five minutes later, she was dashing back into the bedroom in a hurry to get dressed and get out. She gulped down her coffee, wincing a bit when she scalded her tongue and sent a hurried text to her father asking him to meet her for lunch. Then she reconsidered and sent a second one.

_If I'm not at Granny's by 12:30, meet me at the convent._

If Belle was right, she had a feeling that she might be there for a while.

* * *

The last time Snow had seen that expression on Blue's face had been when she'd demanded that the fairy use Dark magic to break into Gold's shop back when Cora had come to town.

"You can't be serious," the fairy said, sounding as though a prized pupil had just asked a question so far beneath them that she was certain she'd misunderstood it. There was no sign of the black eye that Belle had given her the day before; she must have used a healing spell. Or judiciously-applied cosmetics.

"I assure you," Snow said coolly, "I am." She'd taken advantage of two back-to-back free periods to pay a visit to the convent. "If I remember my studies, as a fairy, part of your job description is to help those in need of guidance. As a nun, your duties also include visiting those who are ill. Or incarcerated."

"I don't know that I need to be reminded of my duties," Blue sniffed, "particularly not from a friend who should know better."

Snow shook her head. "It's because we're friends that I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. I'd hoped you'd decide on your own to make amends. But I haven't seen that happen."

Blue's expression turned puzzled. "I removed the spell from August," she said slowly. "I'm not sure what else you expected of me."

"Remorse?" Snow suggested with a bitter laugh. "Because undoing that spell wasn't making amends; that was damage control." She sighed. "You know, I could almost overlook what you and Flora did to Rumpelstiltskin. It happened long before I was born. I do believe you meant well. And… well, I'm ashamed to admit it wouldn't be the first time I was willing to overlook something that had been done to him, where I would have taken action had it been anyone else. It seems that unless it's got repercussions for the town, overlooking what's been done to him is par for the course." Her gaze was steady and her tone even as she continued speaking. "Which, of course, is a big part of the problem."

Blue lowered her eyes. "There was no way I could have predicted the path he would take."

"If you could have," Snow asked, her voice hard, "would you have stayed in his life longer? Given him more support when he needed it? Or would you have left him in the gutter with his father?"

"Had his father not used that bean—"

From the time that she'd been a very small girl, Snow had hoped to be as kind a ruler as her father, and as gracious a queen as her mother. When she'd been a bit older and realized that she would only ascend the throne after her parents passed away, of course she'd hoped that the date of her coronation wouldn't come to pass for many years, but her parents and her tutors groomed her against that day. Today, however, it wasn't either parent that she looked to emulate, but the stepmother who had only lately become her friend. Because today, Snow knew that she couldn't show nervousness or weakness. She'd always been somewhat in awe of Blue, seeing in the fairy a level of goodness to which she could aspire, but never quite reach. And even though recent developments had made her re-examine her beliefs, some of that awe still remained. Blue always seemed so certain that her decisions were right, so serene in her judgments, that it made Snow second guess herself. She couldn't afford to do that anymore. And while she'd stepped down from the mayor's office, in Regina's absence, she supposed that it was her place to retake those reins, however temporarily.

So, it was with Regina's poise and assurance that she froze the fairy with a look and a voice that, though still soft, cut deep. "Had you not given that bean to a child who didn't know the lengths of which his father was capable, you mean." She shook her head slowly. "I have my answer. And my decision. Everyone one deserves a second chance. But between Rumpelstiltskin, Baelfire, Tinkerbell, Pinocchio…" Despite herself, there was a sorrowful note in her voice now. "Patterns are hard to break, Blue. This one _needs_ to be broken. Maybe you do know what's best for everyone. I used to think so. Perhaps one day I will again. But this… tossing people to the winds because they don't take your advice? Separating parents and children because _you_ believe they'd be better off apart? It stops now."

Blue nodded, "As you wish," she murmured. "But surely—"

"I think," Snow interrupted, "that I can accept what you told us the other day: you really… don't understand most of us mortals very well. I guess I must be an exception," she said tonelessly. "Or maybe I've just been lucky enough to heed your advice in most matters. Until now, that is. Be that as it may, ignorance might make your actions understandable, but it doesn't make them excusable. For that…" All at once, her usual warm smile reasserted itself, even though the steel remained in her green eyes. "For that, you need to demonstrate that you've learned better. So, yes," she nodded. "I'm quite serious. You already spend a good portion of your time at the hospital, so it's hardly taking you out of your way. I want you to work with Zelena. Understand her. Teach her. Do your best to rehabilitate her. I admit I'm not sure that's possible, but I want you to find out. Give it six months. We can re-evaluate at that time. But I want you to promise me you'll do your utmost with her for that period."

"And if I refuse?"

Snow shook her head. "I really wouldn't do that. I'm not sure you realize how often I've needed to persuade Rumpelstiltskin not to act against you. In light of certain past events, I'm not sure I'm inclined to run interference any longer."

That last part was pure bluff. Of course, Rumpelstiltskin had never come to her to ask her to look away while he committed some mischief or other. If Blue were to ask her point-blank how many times she'd had to dissuade the Dark One, Snow suspected she'd admit that the number of times was, in fact, zero. Subterfuge had never come easily to her. But now, it was necessary. She had to put the town first. That meant recognizing—and neutralizing—potential threats before they became actualized, whether the threat was a looming blood feud, a bitter, vengeful witch, or a fairy who was so convinced of her own goodness that she failed to see the harm that she was perpetrating. She kept her eyes locked on Blue's and it was the fairy who looked away first.

"It isn't a small task you've set for me," she murmured. "My duties aren't only at the hospital. I have the convent, the other fairies to oversee…"

Snow hid her relief at the turn the conversation was now taking. "I'm sure you can find someone at the convent who can handle the day-to-day matters in your absence," she said. "Pick someone. And if I could make a suggestion?"

The fairy met her eyes again with some trepidation this time. "Yes?"

Snow smiled. "Pick someone with a bit more experience in human behavior than you have. I think that would be best."

Blue nodded, defeated.

* * *

Peering through his office door, Rumple watched as the pirate set about the repairs once more. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before the work would be done and he'd have the shop to himself for most of the day once more. At least, until the next crisis hit the town. Then the heroes would come calling like they always did.

Meanwhile, he'd be glad to have his privacy back. At least, he thought he ought to be.

In truth, for the last few weeks, he'd had more companionship than he could ever recall. And, for all he'd held himself aloof and alone these many years, he couldn't say he wasn't gratified by the recent changes.

It wouldn't last, of course. Nothing good in his life ever did. And the moment he let his guard down, was the moment that Fate sucker-punched him and ran off smirking. It had with his father. It had with the fairies. It had with Cora.

 _Belle_ , he thought with a pang. He'd actually seen that one coming. He'd told Emma as much in a moment of unabashed honesty. He just hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

She'd taken everything from him. His power, his magic—for even before he'd brought magic to Storybrooke, he'd ensured that Regina would have the curse grant him wealth, which was another kind of power, after all—his home, his dignity, his hope…

And she thought a few words of apology could make up for _that_. After everything he'd done to protect her—both from others and from the worst parts of himself. After he'd felt safe enough to share private and personal memories he'd never told another soul. After…

And she'd just…

She'd said she wanted to be chosen. She'd seen his power as her rival in his affections. How she must have laughed to herself when she'd seized hold of it. She must have reveled in finally having the upper hand.

She had to pay.

Rumple caught his breath, horrified. He didn't mean that!

 _Really, Dearie? You've torn out and crushed the hearts of hundreds for far less. Do you mean to say that after she as good as did the same to you, you're just going to lie there and take it? She's just like all the others. She wants to control the monster. Oh, she'll use the dagger if she must, but why bother? When she can do it with_ loooove."

The voice in his dragged out the last syllable mockingly.

 _Oh, yes, dearie. She may love you, even now, but you said it yourself: love is a weapon. And its bite is even keener that the point of the blade that bears your name._ The voice chuckled in an almost friendly fashion. _Well, I mean, you ought to know the truth of that better than anyone, dearie. You've felt both now. And tell me, which blow still eats at you even now?_

He didn't have to say anything. The voice was in his head after all. It could read the confirmation of its assertion in his thoughts. The pain in his heart when he'd stabbed Pan had been a fleeting thing. Even when he'd twisted the blade, it had been over in a moment. But memories of being forced over the town line, of Belle's hard words and accusations—the first ones might have been justified, but not the last—replayed, each word another thrust to his heart and his soul. Would it never stop?

_Didn't she once suggest to you that pain and sorrow… ought to be shared?_

For a moment, he was nodding in agreement. And then, came another moment of blazing fury, directed not outward but in.

"Shut. Up!" he snarled. "Shut up! All the times I lied to her, hurt her… She finally realized who I was and that she wanted no part of it and… And she was right. I've already caused her enough pain, as she has me. No more. No… more."

His voice was ragged by the end of his rejoinder and his eyes were burning, both from the memories of the pain that Belle had caused him, memories he'd been trying to suppress until his inner Darkness brought them back into the… light, as it were, and from the surge of horror that welled up in him that he'd even thought about hurting Belle anew.

He staggered backwards and nearly fell into his chair. For a moment, he sat there, hugging himself, his chin drooping toward his chest, his back hunched. Then he heard someone ask with uncharacteristic concern, "Rumpelstiltskin? Are you… all right?"

He'd almost forgotten that the pirate was here. Hook shouldn't see him like this, shaking and shuddering, with tears threatening to spill down his cheeks—

_Tears_

There was something about tears… something that stirred a memory… something... _important_. He tried to think back. He almost had it… And then, it was as though a door had slammed shut in his face and he recoiled involuntarily. He looked up, met the pirate's curious gaze and, with supreme effort, kept his voice steady as he replied, "I shall be. But if I could trouble you for a glass vial, not too large? I believe you'll find them in the drawer below the left-most countertop."

Hook's eyebrows shot up, but he retreated back to the sales floor and returned a moment later carrying the item Rumple had requested. Rumple accepted it with mumbled thanks. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a narrow glass tube, perhaps three inches long. It reminded Killian vaguely of the mouthpiece of a flute—if the flute were made of clear glass and meant to be played by a fairy at her natural size. One end of the object tapered to a funnel spout, not unlike an eyedropper. The other end was closed, but there was an aperture an inch wide that traversed half the circumference, and it was this aperture that Rumple raised and pressed to his face, just below one eye.

"I'm not sure whether to wonder more why you're crying or why you feel the need to collect the evidence," Hook remarked.

"I suppose it's to your credit that you haven't attempted to make some comment about crocodile tears," Rumple replied dryly.

Killian shrugged. "I'll not pretend it didn't cross my mind. Might one inquire what need you have to preserve one?"

Rumple shook his head. "Perhaps none. Perhaps…" His voice trailed off. "I'm not certain myself," he admitted, as he tilted the tube, positioning the tapered end over the mouth of the vial. The tear dropped in and he stoppered it. "But I seem to recollect that this could be significant for something." If he could manage to sound sufficiently nonchalant, he just might be able to convince the younger man that he'd chosen to _induce_ his tears for the purpose of collecting them.

"What?" Hook asked curiously.

Rumple shrugged. "If I could recall _that_ ," he gave the pirate an enigmatic smile. "Well, I seldom explain my actions as it is, so I trust you won't be offended when I say I likely wouldn't tell you in any case. But the truth is, at the moment… I don't. I suppose, after all this time, I've learned to trust certain instincts is all."

"And those instincts tell you to collect your tears in a glass bottle?" He didn't sound quite convinced, but neither did he seem wholly disbelieving. Good. Rumple could work with that.

His enigmatic smile grew slightly wider as he slid the vial into the pocket of his suit jacket. "Let's see how your reparations progress," he suggested in a voice devoid of rancor. "And as there's little wind today, it might be a good time to replace that broken window pane…"

* * *

Emma phoned the library at 12:25 that afternoon. "It's a good thing you had a title for me," she said without preamble when Belle picked up. "Tink hadn't gotten around to pulling that one off the shelf yet, but she knew exactly where it was."

Belle breathed a sigh of relief. When she'd read those final words in her book, the ones that directed her to ' _The Bruit of Myrddyn and Nyneve—Being an Account of the Dilection of the Mage Myrddyn for the Jade Nyneve and of the Mage's Method to Forfend the Rise of Darkness and Dark's Deep Perversion of Same_ the full historie of which shall be found in the annals of the Fae-folk', she hadn't wanted to get her hopes up too high. After all the pages the two women (and two fairies) had examined, she'd hardly dared dream that it could be that simple. She hadn't even been certain that "Nyneve" and "Nimuë" were, in fact, the same person. Too many old stories had a way of amalgamating two characters into one or of splitting one character into two. And while "Myrddyn" at least _sounded_ somewhat like Merlin (once one realized that the 'dd' sound was pronounced more like a 'z' or a 'th', anyway), she'd found that Nimuë was referred to in various accounts as, "Vivian," "Ninianne," "Evienne," and even, in one instance, "The Lady of the Lake"—which even she knew couldn't be so. _Unless Lake Nostos wasn't the lake in question_ , she thought. She took another breath. "And…?"

"And it looks like your book was right," Emma said. "The hat wasn't supposed to neutralize the Dark One dagger. It was supposed to neutralize the Dark One."


	48. Chapter Forty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The timeline Whale cites is from the Medical News Today website. Charlotte Rose de Caumont de la Force (1654–1724) was a writer of secret histories (basically RPF romances) and fairy tales. A maid of honor at the court of Louis XIV of France, she is credited with having written the prototype for Rapunzel (Persinette), later adapted by the Brothers Grimm.

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

 

_Camelot, long ago…_

"You summoned me, Master?" the Apprentice asked, taking up a position several paces before the wizard who was far older than he appeared.

"I did, lad," Merlin returned. It was easier to keep track of time when one had a companion who still aged significantly from year to year. The boy hadn't been more than six or seven when he'd taken him into his service. From the looks of him, he'd now spent roughly half his life under the wizard's tutelage. He gave the boy a sad smile. "It's no easy charge I entrust you with," he admitted. "And I think that in time, you'll wish to be free of it." He smiled. "Perhaps, some day, you shall be."

"You've wrested the dagger back from the Dark One, then?" the Apprentice guessed.

Merlin shook his head. "I have not. I dare not. It's as dangerous a thing to keep as it is to relinquish." One corner of his mouth twitched up in a half-smile. "No, my boy. It suffices for me that the spells of tethering I laid upon that blade are beyond the Dark One's power to unravel. But," he sighed, "it will not suffice for her."

"Master?"

Merlin gave the youth a fond smile. "I love her still, you know. I may strive against all she has become, but I cannot give up hope that one day, she will find her way back to me again."

The apprentice frowned. He knew little of the woman his master had loved—save only that she had chosen to surrender herself to Darkness once and was now transformed by it—but he had seen the aftermath of her deeds. "Is such a thing possible, Master? Even after all she's done?"

"Darkness can always find the light," the wizard replied. "It is the nature of Darkness to seek it out. But," his face was troubled, "when she finds it, will she seek to allow it to enter her once more… or will she attempt to snuff it out?"

"Master?"

Merlin shook his head. "Nobody is ever truly lost to Darkness unless they choose to be," he said. And although he still faced the youth before him, he seemed to be speaking his thoughts aloud to himself, rather than addressing the lad. "I hope… I pray… than in time, Nimuë will come to regret what she has done in the name of vengeance and retribution. I can but dream that one day, she will seek to return to the Light, even if not to me."

"Master?" the Apprentice repeated.

Merlin shook his head. "I stopped her because I had no choice," he said. "But I would I could have done so without imposing such a check upon her freedom. In saving her life, I fear that I destroyed her love."

"You… aren't going to attempt to reclaim that dagger," the boy realized. "Are you?"

The wizard sighed. "I am not. But the check must remain in place. It is the nature of the slave to seek freedom. It would be my inclination to grant such freedom, if I dared. But to do that, the Dark One will need to take the first steps on her own."

The Apprentice nodded, but his face was worried. "Master?" he ventured. "The Dark One has been known to deceive. And you've told me that love can be a weapon. Might it not be wielded to make another believe they see remorse where none exists?"

Merlin regarded the youth with an unblinking gaze, his face inscrutable and the Apprentice gulped. "Forgive me, Master," he murmured, retreating half a step. "I forget myself."

"You do not," Merlin said sadly. "You merely speak aloud the fear I hesitated to voice. Such fear," he said solemnly, "is not without merit." From within the folds of his robe, he drew out a small round box with a lid emblazoned with stars.

The Apprentice took a hesitant step toward it, but as he started to extend his hand, he looked up cautiously at his master. "What… what is that?"

"Take it," Merlin said. "It's yours to watch over now."

"To watch over?" the youth repeated. "I… I don't understand." But under the wizard's silent, encouraging gaze, he reached out once more and took the box as he'd been bidden.

Merlin sighed. "What you hold now in your hand is the flame that will draw every Dark moth to you through the ages." He stood for a moment, lost in thought. He'd never intended there to be others, but the Darkness had had other ideas. And a will to survive. With Nimuë as its vessel, it had modified the dagger, woven an enchantment of its own in with the original workings. Nimuë might be immortal now, but that didn't mean she couldn't be killed. And if she were, then the Darkness would claim her killer as its new host. It might be tethered, but only a fool would believe it to be tamed. And with each new incarnation, its power would only grow. Merlin could only hope that when the final reckoning came, its might could still be vanquished. One way or another.

"Master?"

Merlin realized that he'd been standing silently for several long minutes. He smiled apologetically at the youth. "It is the means by which the Dark One may snap the tether that binds her—and will bind those who come after her—to the blade that bears its thrall's name. Every Dark One will try to acquire it. Every Dark One will fail."

"Then why create such a thing at all?" the Apprentice asked with a puzzled frown.

Merlin smiled enigmatically. "Perhaps, one day, you will understand. But even if you do not… Perhaps, one day, the Dark One will."

* * *

Belle listened carefully to what Emma was telling her. "So, the hat… It's a trap?" she said finally.

"More like a test," Emma sighed. "I don't know much about the other Dark Ones," she admitted, "but I'm guessing that most of them don't live as long as Gold has."

"No," Belle agreed. "I… did some research back in our land, before I convinced Father to ask Rumple to help us. I didn't know about the dagger back then, but the books were clear on the point that while the Dark One is immortal, he—or she—can be killed, and if that happens, then their killer becomes the new Dark One. I can't quote you statistics at length, but it's safe to say that Rumple's been much more careful than many of his predecessors."

"So, in other words, most of the time, a Dark One dies before getting to the point where their heart deteriorates like Gold's is." Emma didn't sound like she was asking Belle's opinion. "That makes sense."

"Pardon?"

"Okay," Emma took a breath. "Ever since Henry told me that Nimuë was Merlin's True Love, I've been trying to wrap my head around the whole 'tethering your significant other to a dagger and having them at your beck and call' business. I mean—" She broke off abruptly. "Um…"

"I know what you mean," Belle said quietly. "Go on. Please."

"Okay. I get why Merlin thought he had to do what he did. But at the same time, I don't think he necessarily wanted it to be permanent. I think he made the hat because he hoped that at some point, Nimuë would want to get rid of the Darkness."

"So, he created a way to untether her from the dagger," Belle nodded. "I can understand that much. But I can't fathom why, in creating that hat, he made it so that she'd have to trap Light magic in the hat and then let her think that she had to crush someone's heart to break free?"

There was a long pause and Belle was just about to ask whether Emma was still on the line when her voice came back over the connection. "That's just it, Belle," Emma said. "I don't think he did…"

* * *

_Camelot…_

_He opened his eyes and sensed her presence almost immediately. Casting a simple spell to muffle his foot-treads, he padded noiselessly up the tower steps to his library. Just outside the closed door, he paused, hearing a youthful voice speaking slowly, stumbling over some of the words. He pushed down carefully on the latch and eased the door open._

_"Go on," Nimuë encouraged. "Keep reading."_

_His apprentice nodded and turned the page. "And it shall come to pass that if the Dark One will turn away from the path upon which her feet have trod and behold, her soul shall be lightened, then shall the tether be undone and the hat shall restore all…" The youth paused._

_"Go on," the Dark One repeated._

_"Forgive me, My Lady," the Apprentice said. "The Fairy tongue is difficult to translate at ti—AHHHH!"_

_Merlin flinched at the boy's shriek. Only then did he note the red glowing heart that the Dark One held aloft in one clenched hand. So. Writing his notes in Fairy wasn't an adequate safeguard after all. "Nimuë," he said with quiet authority, "you could have simply asked."_

_The woman he would once have given up everything for smiled malevolently. "Now, where would be the fun in that?" she asked. She jerked her head toward the book. "So. If I'm a good little girl, you'll free me, then?"_

_"It's not too late," Merlin replied, and although his voice was calm, he wondered whether she could discern that he was begging her to take the second chance he offered._

_"I let in a little Light, and the hat takes away the rest of my Darkness." She seemed to be considering it._

_Emboldened, he replied, "That's right, Nimuë. The Darkness, the tether… You can be the woman you were once, the woman I fell in love with and love still. All you have to do… is want it."_

_For a moment, a deep sadness rose in her eyes. "I-I do," she replied. And for a moment, she sounded like she had at the beginning. "I do. But that offer comes with a price. If I accept, then I become as I was once. Weak. Afraid. Helpless. Dependent. Nothing." She shook her head. "And that, Merlin, I shall never be again."_

_"Darkness, too, comes with a price," Merlin warned._

_"It's worth it," Nimuë countered. "Oh, I admit that being forever at the beck and call of whoever might come to possess this blade," she brandished the dagger in the hand that had been empty an instant earlier, "is something I abhor. But from what your student has been reading to me, it would seem as though removing the Darkness and removing the tether are two distinct tasks, and one is not dependent upon the other."_

_Merlin shook his head. "It wouldn't work, Nimuë," he said softly. "In order for the spell to take, you'll need to relinquish your power. Otherwise, the spell will fail."_

_"Perhaps," Nimuë said, smiling complacently. "But suppose that the power to fuel your spell didn't come from me?"_

_In one swift motion, she hurled the Apprentice's heart at Merlin. And as the wizard lunged forward to catch it, she seized the hat and activated it, turning its underside toward him like a gaping maw…_

* * *

Merlin awoke in a cold sweat. A dream. It had been a dream. But not an ordinary one. This one had a ring of prophecy to it. He didn't know whether he'd been granted a vision of what _could_ come to pass or what _would_ , but if the Nimuë of his dream had spoken truly, then he had more work to do.

He tiptoed toward the room where his apprentice slept and opened the door. A sleepy youth sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "Do you need me, Master?" he asked, smothering a yawn.

Merlin cast a seeing spell and smiled to find the lad's heart beating right where it ought to be. "No, forgive me," he said gently. "Go back to sleep. I can attend to what needs doing on my own."

He mounted the steps to his library.

Several hours later, he looked up from his books and sighed regretfully. He didn't know whether Nimuë had truly been here, or whether she had been the voice of the doubts that plagued his subconscious, but whatever her seeming had been, it had spoken truly. The hat _could_ untether the Dark One from the dagger without said Dark One mending her ways—if it absorbed sufficient Light magic to balance the Darkness it was primed to remove.

Merlin closed his eyes. He should destroy the hat now, lest Nimuë get her hands on it and turn it from a healing balm to a deadly weapon. But he couldn't. Suppose… suppose that she _did_ choose to return to the Light at some point. How could he refuse her that second chance?

No, he wouldn't destroy the hat. But he would make some modifications to the spells that imbued it. And he would ensure that the instructions to unravel the Dark One's tether were worded in such a way that if no change of heart were present, then the Dark One would interpret them to her detriment.

He frowned. He'd been writing his notes in Fairy for some time, secure in the knowledge that the Dark One couldn't read it. But his dream had shown him that this precaution would not suffice. Perhaps, though, there was a way to fix that…

Carefully, he penned one instruction that really ought to give the Dark One pause. She knew him. Surely, she'd divine that there was no way he'd mean for her to crush an innocent heart. If she would do that…

His jaw set. If she would do that, then there was no turning back for her. She would have gone too far. And she would have sealed her fate.

And his.

For the only two people left who had known Nimuë before she'd become the Dark One were his apprentice and himself. And faced with the choice, he knew that Nimuë would want to crush his heart literally, as she'd done figuratively so many months ago.

He nodded sadly to himself. If she was ready to do that… then it was better that she killed him. He didn't want to live knowing what she had become, knowing that he had helped make her so.

He opened to a fresh page in his journal and, using a calligraphy style he'd once been shown by a particularly giddy young fairy, he began to bait his trap.

* * *

"I see what you mean," Belle said heavily, gripping the phone tightly enough for the casing to dig into her hand. "About it being more test than trap. I… may not fully understand everything Rumple's put himself through trying to be what he thought I wanted, but these last days, _I've_ been trying to work on some things I didn't realize were such problems. And while I may not have Rumple's Darkness, I do know that trying to change—even without that Darkness whispering at me—isn't easy. I can try to imagine what it must be like for Rumple, but I don't know that I really can. So, for him to try to mend his ways when everything inside him tries to tell him he can't and when almost everyone around him acts the same? If he can manage that…"

"Yeah," the sigh in Emma's voice came through her phone's speaker clearly. "I wonder…"

"Wonder what?"

Emma hesitated for a moment. "Regina," she said finally.

Belle blinked in confusion. "Regina?"

"With everything in her past, her heart must be pretty dark by now, right?"

"Well, I should think so," Belle replied with a pained smile she knew Emma could hear over the phone. Her smile fell away abruptly. "But… even I can see she's not like that now. So, coming back to the Light _has_ to be possible."

"Yeah, I know," Emma said. "What I'm wondering now is… What does her heart look like today? Is it as Dark as it was when she ripped out her father's heart to enact the curse? Or… has it _lightened_?"

Belle's eyes grew wide as she remembered the passage she'd come across when researching the ink that the Author (if they ever found him) would require. She'd later shared that finding with Emma, still not clear on what it meant. Now her pulse quickened as she breathed, "You think that something like that could be happening with _Rumple's_ heart."

"I don't know," Emma cautioned. "I'm guessing here. But one thing _is_ certain: Regina's using light magic these days, Dark heart or not." And one thing was _less_ certain, if only because she hadn't witnessed it herself: if Henry's interpretation of what he'd seen in the hospital was the correct one, then so was Gold.

"I think we need to talk to Regina," Belle said abruptly.

"I think you're right." There was a pause. Then Emma continued somewhat sheepishly, "But let's leave that for a couple of hours. Dad's been waiting pretty patiently and I promised him we'd meet for lunch—about forty-five minutes ago."

"Oh, dear."

"I'll call you when we're done, okay?"

It wasn't really okay. Even though she had to admit that another hour or so wouldn't make much difference, she felt as though she'd been working on a complicated jigsaw puzzle that was just starting to cohere. She was loth to turn aside from it now. But it was nice that at least _one_ of them had a father who wasn't trying to dictate who they should care about. And so, she forced a smile into her voice and answered, "Sure. I'll just keep researching until then."

* * *

_Camelot…_

It was ten years later and she hadn't aged a day. Her appearance surprised him, more because he hadn't thought he'd ever see her again than because she'd come upon him unawares. He'd known he had company, he just hadn't known who until he'd turned and seen her standing in the doorway.

"You never did tell me, Merlin," Nimuë nearly purred, "whatever did you need my blood for? I know some men have… interesting appetites, but unless yours was a newly-acquired taste, I think there was another reason."

Merlin turned his face from her with a weary sigh. "Ours is a story that will be told and retold through the ages," he said.

"Ours?" Nimuë repeated, her voice incredulous. She gave a little laugh. "There's no 'ours', no 'us'. Not when you refuse to accept me for who I am."

Merlin had no answer for her that he hadn't given in the past. Instead, he said only, "Sometimes, one's fate must be sealed in blood. And sometimes it can only be changed with blood."

"Time has made you cryptic, Merlin," Nimuë bantered. "The words you're speaking sound like they should be coming from my lips, not yours."

"There was a time when we might have shared one heart," the wizard returned. "But that time is past. I see that now. Our goals diverged long ago. And yours, Dark One, cannot be permitted to prevail."

"You can't stop me, you know," she said with a ghost of her old smile. "You would have done so long ago, if you could."

"I can't," Merlin agreed. "But you can and will. Darkness must ever yield to Light. And, if necessary, it may even serve it."

Nimuë's eyes opened wide. "What did you do, old man?" she demanded. "For what end did you take my blood?"

"Everyone is the hero of their own story, Nimuë," Merlin said sadly. "But not its Author. When one has bound one's soul over to Darkness, there can be no happy ending written for them."

A dreadful understanding bloomed in the Dark One's eyes. "No!"

"I'm sorry, Nimuë, but yes. Your power may bring you all you desire, but it will cost you more than you can afford. Such is the law of Darkness—now penned in Dark's own essence—and I pray you learn that lesson and turn away from your fate before it's too late."

"This round may be yours, Merlin," Nimuë hissed, "But a time will come when an Author will rise who will not be bound by your petty restrictions!"

Merlin shook his head. "Perhaps. But a time will also come when the Dark One will turn away from the path to their own destruction and choose Light and love once more."

"Destruction? Never!" Nimuë cried. "What you call ruin, I call salvation. And if I must choose between power and love, then I choose power and always shall!" There was a puff of green smoke and a smell of burning tar and Merlin was alone once more.

The mage sighed. "I never said that it would be you, Nimuë," he murmured to the rapidly dissipating wisps of smoke. "Though I still hold out hope that it could be…"

* * *

It was a bit after three when Emma and Belle called on Regina at the hospital. The mayor received them graciously, seeming glad of the distraction. "I suppose I should be happy that the man who once gathered a lynch mob on my front lawn is now taking such pains with my well-being," she remarked, "but at this point, I could almost wish for a more cavalier approach. I can't wait to get out of here."

Emma nodded. "I can relate. Uh… Belle and I were wondering…" As Emma explained what they'd been discussing earlier, Regina's eyebrows climbed higher. Then, she nodded slowly reached into her own chest, and extracted her heart.

"I think…" Regina said slowly, examining the organ. "I…" Abruptly she locked eyes with Emma. "Find Tinkerbell," she snapped. "I think you might be right, but she saw my heart in Neverland. I'd rather get a second opinion."

"I'm on it," Emma said, exiting. She returned a few minutes later with the fairy in tow. Tink took one look at the heart and then beamed at Regina. "It's definitely redder," she said. "No question about it."

For a moment, Regina smiled back. Then her expression turned troubled. "I don't understand," she said. "Darkness corrupts. I was under the impression that I could keep the… I suppose we can call it an 'infection' from getting worse. But this… I'm not complaining, but I don't see—"

"Um… If I may," Whale stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry," he said to the four women. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But while I might not know much about Darkened hearts, I wonder whether there might not be some parallel with darkened lungs."

"Sorry," Belle said. "What?"

Whale smiled. "Well, smoking's never really been much of an issue in Storybrooke, but the curse still gave me the knowledge I'd need if anyone had taken up the habit and later wanted to quit. I don't have the information on me, but suppose we go back to my office and I'll see if I can pull it up online."

Emma, Belle, and Tink moved toward him at once. Whale smiled at Regina. "You're not on bed-rest, Your Majesty. Come along."

* * *

Whale's office was only a short walk down the hall, and it was small enough to feel a bit crowded with five of them in it. The doctor ushered them around his desk to his computer and quickly shifted his mouse to banish the screen-saver. "Okay," he said, typing a few terms into a search engine. "Here it is. Again, this has to do with what happens when a person stops smoking, but I think you'll see a few parallels that might explain what's going on. So…" He drew their attention to the screen and began reading aloud.

"Almost immediately after finishing a cigarette, heart rate and blood pressure slowly return to normal. Often, as little as twenty minutes later. After twelve hours without a cigarette, carbon monoxide levels decrease to normal, which means that oxygen levels go up." He smiled. "Just _one day_ after quitting smoking, the risk of heart attack begins to decrease. Again, I'm not drawing any conclusions about magical cardiac conditions; I'm just putting this out for discussion. Now. Smoking deadens the senses of taste and smell, or at least the nerve endings responsible for them. Just two days after the last cigarette? Those start to heal." He shrugged. "If you want, I can print this off for you, but my point is that once you stop the destructive activity that darkened the organ in the first place, it takes time, but it _can_ recover."

The four women smiled back. Then, Belle's face fell. "The thing is," she said slowly, "that's wonderful for _you_ , Regina. But in Rumple's case… Doctor, if you're right, then it's good news for someone who hasn't yet suffered irreparable harm. But can we say that about Rumple?"

Whale hesitated. "I don't know," he admitted. "My field is medicine, not magic. If we were dealing with the former, I'd have better answers for you. But keep in mind that even if there's been some permanent damage, making changes, however small, however late in the game they might be, can still extend life expectancy. There are people who suffer heart attacks, take the close call as a wake-up call, follow the instructions they've been given and, despite having a weakened heart, live many years more." He locked eyes with Regina.

"In any case, if your heart is showing signs of recovery, from a medical standpoint, it's far from unheard of."

He turned to Belle. "And the same might well hold true for Rumpelstiltskin."

Emma sucked in her breath. "Come on," she said. "We've got to tell him." She looked from Regina to Whale. "Thanks. We'll catch you later."

"What, right now?" Regina asked. "I agree it's something he should know, but why the hurry?"

"Because," Emma called, already trotting briskly out of the office, Belle a half-step behind, "Just believing in the possibility of a happy ending—"

* * *

_France, 1693_

"—is a powerful thing," the Apprentice explained to the newest Author. "As is believing in the impossibility of one."

The Author, a dreamy-eyed woman in her late thirties twisted a long, honey-colored curled tress and looked perplexed. "But good sir," she remarked, "you've granted me this quill, which writes as it will, not as I might wish. So I must ask you, do I serve any true purpose beyond simply providing the hand to support this wondrous item?"

"You do," the Apprentice returned, smiling to hear a question that had been asked by so few of this Author's predecessors. "The quill records your observations, so you must observe keenly. It will mold itself to your insights, so you must think on what you see. And one other thing: you must judge for yourself when the story ends."

"When it ends?" the Author parroted. "But surely that must be when it's over."

"Yes, but who can say where that point might be? The difference between tragedy and comedy is oftentimes simply where you choose to break off from telling. Will you end your story with the lost battle? Or will you move forward two months to the great victory? Will you end with the death of a righteous king at the hands of his minister? Or a score of years later when the monarch's true heir exposes the treason, punishes the assassin, and takes their rightful place on the throne? Or perhaps three-and-twenty years after that when the monarch's own child stages a revolt?" Although the Apprentice was still smiling, his voice was quite serious.

"A story rarely ends without birthing several sequels. But where you choose to close the first tale will determine the message your readers will take away. Choose wisely, my dear."

The woman nodded slowly. "It seems as though my responsibility is greater than I thought. As are the consequences of failure. Perhaps, you ought to select another in my place?"

The Apprentice shook his head. "I didn't select you. The quill did. It knows the best candidate for this work. Believe in yourself. Believe in possibilities."

It had the semblance of a blessing and the woman gulped and nodded slowly. When her fingers curled about the quill, a brilliant light emanated from it and she had to close her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she was alone in her chamber, with the quill.

Charlotte Rose de Caumont de la Force examined the instrument with an expression of awe on her face. Then, she carefully locked it within her writing desk and summoned her ladies to help prepare her for bed. Maids of honor had many duties at the court of Louis XIV, and she would need to be well-rested if she were to carry them out properly. She smiled to herself. As soon as she had leisure, though, she was going to visit one of those 'Lands of Storytelling' the old man had spoken about. She was already developing quite the reputation for writing secret histories. Perhaps, it would help if the quill could carry her to some of those Spanish scenes she was so interested in fleshing out. And if she could actually meet Henri IV of Castile or Marguerite de Valois instead of imagining what they were like. And then there were those other ideas she was toying with, like the one about the mother-to-be with the craving for parsley and the fool of a husband who bartered their unborn child away in exchange for some. If she ended the story there, then it could be seen as a cautionary tale about the short-sightedness of a man bent on making his wife happy without considering that consequences could extend beyond the moment. But if she was to heed the old man's instructions and find a more pleasing end, then she might do better to reflect on the fate of the babe, once the fairy with the herb garden came to claim her….

Charlotte was smiling when her ladies entered, and she didn't even wince when the youngest and most inexperienced of them dragged the comb a bit too forcefully through her hair. She was too busy thinking about the quill in her desk. It was time to expand her horizons…

* * *

"Do," Belle ventured as she fastened her seatbelt in Emma's bug, "do you think it's a good idea for me to be with you now? I mean, Rumple's made it plain he doesn't want to see me and ignoring his wishes is a lot of what brought us to where we are in the first place."

Emma nodded. "It's a risk," she admitted, "but we've been trying to solve this puzzle from different directions. And if he asks me something I didn't think to ask you beforehand and I'm stumped, then you need to be there with me to answer it. And vice versa."

"Emma… is this false hope or real?"

Emma sighed. "I guess that depends if we're right, doesn't it? But I kind of think we are." She hesitated. "I think we should start off with what we learned about the hat. We'll the bad news out of the way, first." She smiled. "There'll be time enough to tell him about the heart afterwards."

"A happy ending?" Belle asked with a smile.

Emma smiled back. "I think it might just be the start of one..."

* * *

Rumple looked up as the bell over the door jangled. His eyebrows shot ceiling-wards when he saw the two women burst into his shop at a run. "We got something," Emma announced tersely, sparing a nod for August who sat whittling away in an unobtrusive corner.

A shield seemed to have lower over his eyes when he saw Belle, but if his voice displayed no warmth, it was similarly devoid of hostility.

"I'd presume it's not contagious," he murmured, "else you'd not be gadding about."

"The-the hat," Belle said quickly. "Emma was right. And so were you. It _was_ a setup, only…"

"Only," Emma cut in breathlessly, "it was also a cure. Kind of." A faint smile played on her lips. "It sort of goes back to the questions that set us off on this… this quest, I guess. The whole, 'if Merlin is Light, then how is he setting up something this Dark?' and-and it looks like the hat was some kind of test."

Rumple sucked in his breath and locked his hands around the edge of the counter. "Go on," he said.

As the two women took turns relaying their findings, Gold's eyes grew wider and, his knuckles whitened around the counter edge. Belle was dimly aware that at some point, August had put aside his knives and wood and come to stand beside them, neglecting to brush all the sawdust off of his clothes first. When they were finished, Gold shook his head slowly.

"So, if you hadn't prevented me from doing what I'd meant to on that night," he said, meeting Belle's eyes for the first time, "then…"

"Then, it looks like the hat would have sucked _you_ in permanently. That much Darkness would've pushed you to a place you wouldn't have been able to come back from."

Gold uttered a low whimper and staggered back from the counter, waving the others back when they would have drawn nearer. "I should have realized something was amiss in all that," he murmured. "How could I have—?"

August cleared his throat. "Uh… can I bring up something from our shared past one last time without your turning me into a matchstick or something?" He waited for Gold's slight nod, before he went on. "When I set you up to believe that I was Baelfire, I knew I was going to have my work cut out for me. I mean, I'd met him. I knew we might have been roughly the same age, but that was where the resemblance ended. And while my excerpt of the Storybook gave me the facts on the ground, obviously, I didn't have any idea about all the little stuff, the nuances, the day-to-day memories like the ones I have with _my_ papa."

"The moments," Emma supplied.

August gave her a sharp look and nodded. He turned back to Gold. "I also knew you weren't stupid," he said with a rueful smile. "So, in order to convince you, I started skulking about. Dropping hints with all the right people about my having come here to reconcile with a father I hadn't seen in years and parted from under less than amicable circumstances. Anything that would attract your interest, spark—" He looked away, with some embarrassment and his voice dropped to a mumble, "spark hope in your heart," he went on… "Because I needed you to want me to be Baelfire so badly that you'd overlook the puzzle pieces that didn't fit." He met Gold's eyes again briefly, but lowered his almost at once. "Don't think I don't realize how it sounds out loud, or know that if I hadn't already started turning back to wood by that point, that stunt would've been the tipping point. But it looks to me like Merlin was pulling the same thing. Dangling the right bait, making you jump through hoops at every stage, building up hope that—" He stopped. "Well, you know," he mumbled. "It got you so focused on the goal that you didn't question the process. Or the motives of the guy who created it."

"So," Rumple said heavily, turning to Belle with a bleak smile. "I suppose I ought to thank you for giving me these last few weeks of life. But my account is finally coming due. It would appear," he shook his head and turned away from the counter, "that unless Regina's efforts bear fruit quickly, there can be," despite his best efforts, his voice broke, "no hope for me, now."


	49. Chapter Forty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: References: S4:E18, "Heart of Gold" and S5:E7, "Nimue".

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

"Well don't review your will just yet," Emma said, smiling. "We saved the good news for the end. Regina's heart isn't as Dark as it used to be."

Gold's eyebrows shot up. "I suppose that's a reason for her to celebrate, but while I'm happy for her, you'll pardon me if I don't crack open the bottle of Dom Perignon I've been keeping in the safe in the back for the right occasion."

"Have you checked yours?"

Gold affected a slight chuckle. "While another letter's come back on the dagger as of yesterday," he said, "I'm not so naïve as to think that the damage done to my heart is so easily repaired." He shook his head. "I'd known for some time that there was a problem. I was using magic to combat the deterioration, foolish though it was. Once I was outside Storybrooke, cut off from access to the spells I'd come to depend upon to stave off the inevitable…"

"I had no idea," Belle said, stricken.

Gold shook his head. "I never gave you reason to suspect that anything was amiss," he murmured. "Even I didn't realize how grave my condition was until my collapse."

"Maybe," Emma said slowly, "you ought to check it anyway. When you get home tonight, if you'd rather do it in privacy."

"No need for that," Gold said reaching into his chest. "Regina marked the undamaged portion; it's a simple enough thing to…" His jaw dropped.

"Rumple?" Belle asked.

"But she outlined it precisely," Gold whispered. "I-I watched her. And yet…" He extended the heart toward them so that all could see.

There was a faint flickering ring of magic surrounding the small sliver of his heart that wasn't dark. And there was a narrow red circle—not much wider than an eighth of an inch, but still plainly visible—around that ring.

"It's grown, hasn't it?" Emma breathed. "The undamaged part?"

"I-I don't know," Gold said nervously. "It's possible that there are ebbs and flows with this sort of thing. It could be that tomorrow, the patch will have shrunk."

"Has that ever happened before?" August asked. "Where the Dark portions receded temporarily?"

"I don't know," Gold snapped. "It's not something I've checked on a daily basis."

"Maybe…" Belle suggested, "maybe that's something you could try for a week?"

Gold looked frantically from one face to the next. Finally he gave a slow nod. "Yeah," he muttered. "Okay."

* * *

He was used to playing long games, extending loans and favors against a time when he'd need to call them in. If he didn't always hold all the cards, as the old cliché had it, he usually had an ace or two up his sleeve. Fate didn't always smile on him, and when it did, it was seldom for long, but he prided himself on knowing which way the wind blew and on positioning himself to take his best advantage. He might have tried to circumvent the rules, or invent new ones, but he'd always thought he knew how the game was played.

Now, he felt as though an earthquake was taking place beneath him, shifting ground he'd believed to be solid and throwing everything he'd taken as unwavering fact into chaos. He was scrambling and scrabbling, trying to make sense of it all and, disturbingly, becoming aware that the forces he'd let in long ago and trusted to protect him were now trying their utmost to keep him from true understanding. Instead, the Darkness whispered at him, mocking his hopes, telling him that the others—it would not call them 'friends'—were, at best, misguided and, at worst, taking advantage of his credulity for their own ends.

Usually, it was his own worst self that he dealt with. This time, though, he saw _her_. Skin of teal, not quite as mottled as it would become in later Dark Ones, green eyes that radiated amusement, and a voice that was soft and gentle, with merely the faintest ghost of the mockery that his own Darker self favored so. "I just thought I'd reach out to you," she said cordially, "seeing as you were trying to get hold of me earlier. I suppose it's been so long since anyone did that I've grown used to my solitude."

"Nimuë," he breathed.

"In the spirit, if not the flesh," she confirmed.

He took a breath. "Is it true?" he demanded. "About the hat? About my fate?"

Nimuë looked disappointed. "I'd think you'd have had the wisdom not to ask that. Say it is. Well, I'm scarcely about to admit it and have you singlehandedly thwart the goal that every Dark One between me and you has striven to realize. Say it's not. You've been one of us for… two centuries? More?" She shrugged. "You know you won't believe a word I say, truth or lie. I could swear to you by all I've ever held dear that Emma and the others are mistaken, and that survival instinct of yours will still clutch at those remaining straws. Or threads. Whatever it is you spin these days." She sighed. "Questioning someone is pointless when you won't believe the answers you'll receive. But," she smiled at his dismay, "I will give you one free piece of advice. Think of it as fair repayment for your years of service."

Her skin smoothed and took on a more natural color. A smattering of freckles bloomed on her cheekbones. And her smile was less malevolent than it had been a moment ago. "This isn't coming from the Darkness, but from the woman who was first to recognize and accept what it offered. Rumple," she said softly, "you, more than anyone, understand what it's like to be powerless to protect those you love. I was the gentlest of creatures until Vortigan came. He slaughtered every man, woman, and child in my village, save for me. And then, he burned the only home I'd ever known to the ground. I was in the woods nearby, foraging and returned just in time to witness what he'd done. Rage and terror froze me where I stood. He turned and saw me and…" Bitterness dripped from her voice, "He turned his back and mounted his horse. I was nothing to him. Not even worth the minimal strength it would have taken for him to lift his blade and send me to my people. And then the Darkness showed me what it could make of me and I tasted of its gifts, much as you did later. And I was no longer nothing. And I regret nothing. Rumple, do you truly not understand what you'd be giving up, even if Emma and Belle are right? Without magic… You'll be right back where you started. The village coward, hated and derided by all, overlooked and ill-thought-of even before you hobbled yourself on the battlefield. Scorned by your wife. Knowing that it was just a matter of time before the son you loved would feel ashamed that he was of your blood, much as you were shamed by your father's. Rumple…" and now, he saw her truly as she once had been, before Vortigan had taught her how to hate, "Rumple, do you truly want to go back? To being nothing?"

* * *

Belle was waiting outside the hospital when Regina made her way through the main doors. The mayor raised an eyebrow as her eyes met the librarian's. "I can't quite tell if you have good news or bad," she murmured.

Belle sighed. "Like what we had for Rumple, I suppose it's a bit of both." She quickly described what Rumple's heart had looked like. Regina's eyes widened.

"It hasn't even been a week," she said incredulously. "And you said there's another letter back on the dagger, too?"

"I didn't see it," Belle admitted, "but I can't think why he'd be lying about it. And if his heart is lightening, I don't know that I need to see the dagger to believe his name is returning as well."

Regina shook her head, more in wonder than in disbelief. "First I find out that I can use magic to hack a federal database, and now this. If it was just a question of pharmacology, I could name you dozens of roots and leaves and berry juices that crop up on ingredient lists for various healing potions. But using a medical ailment as a basis for treating a magical one…" She took a breath. "I suppose I didn't expect the laws of a Land Without Magic to be this… compatible with the rules with which I'm familiar."

She frowned. "So, what's the bad news?"

Belle shook her head. "I wish I could say that Rumple and I having a civil exchange was an improvement, but it isn't. The few times we've spoken since that night, he hasn't said a harsh word. He hasn't even raised his voice. But he won't let me back in and I'm afraid to push."

Regina sighed. "Giving advice to the lovelorn isn't my forte by any stretch. In my experience, though, time can be a healer. Of course, with Rumple being immortal and possibly pulling back from death's door, it may take more time than you think."

Belle winced. "And if he does give me another chance, I don't know if I'll bungle that one, too." Regina gave her a sharp look and Belle blinked. "What?"

"I'm just thinking," Regina replied with a shrug. "And wondering how often thoughts like that one must cross Rumple's mind. I didn't know half of what he'd been through until I read Henry's book." She gave Belle a penetrating look. "The two of you really aren't as different as some people might think. You might want to keep that in mind. If you get that other chance." She smiled. "I think I'm going to celebrate my release from the hospital with a cappuccino at Granny's."

Belle hesitated. "I… I'm not ready to go back there, yet," she murmured. "I'd better go see if there's anything else to be discovered at the mansion."

"You shouldn't let one embarrassing incident keep you away from a place," Regina called after her retreating figure. Belle stopped for a moment, but then hurried on, surprisingly steady on the snowy sidewalk, despite the four-inch stiletto heels on her boots. Wearing a mildly exasperated smile as she watched the librarian's figure grow smaller in the distance, Regina turned and made her way toward Main Street.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin curled on the floor of the back room of his shop, nearly in the fetal position, eyes closed, hugging himself tightly. It was happening again. He was trapped here, powerless, and it was happening again.

_Without magic, you are right back to where you started: the village coward._

He'd heard those words replay like an endless loop during those long months when he'd been forced to relearn what it was to live without power or freedom, to be completely helpless and totally at the whim and mercy of another.

_No money, no influence, no land, no title, no power…_

_Nothing_

A wave of despair washed over him and he shuddered. His magic was killing him. He knew it. He understood it. But without it…

_You were a good provider. You were a good father, too. You brought up your son—and did a damned good job of it, despite all the strikes against you._

_You're easy to talk to._

_You kept your wife and son from begging in the streets._

_You're not a monster._

Almost imperceptibly, some of his tension eased and the knot in his stomach began to unclench.

_I love you. Always have._

And she still did, despite the extent to which he'd hurt her. Despite the extent to which she'd hurt him. Despite his always having been difficult to love, she'd managed it. And she wouldn't be trying to win him back now…

…If she didn't think he was still worth fighting for.

If she _didn't_ see him as pitiful or pathetic.

If she—

More memories crashed over him. Hordor ready to take Bae away from him forcibly, demanding that Rumple demonstrate his fealty in the most humiliating way possible. Cora taking his love and using it to trick him into changing the terms of their deal. His father, blaming him for crushing his hopes and dreams. The others in his village mocking him for his limp and the cowardice that had created it. Making him feel as though…

…As though

_Some people love to slap labels on other people. Coward, troubled kid, miser, trash… They just love telling you who you are. And you've got to punch back and say, 'No. This is who I am.'_

"Go back to being nothing?" he murmured softly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His lips curled back in a snarl and he recoiled, as if he could truly distance himself from the seductive voice of the original Dark One.

"I. Was. _NEVER_ Nothing!" As soon as the words escaped him, he knew that they bespoke a truth he'd never realized, never accepted, until now. Perhaps there had been times in his past when he'd _had_ nothing, but a person's worth was more than the sum total of their possessions. With or without his power, he had worth and he had value. And no matter what anybody might claim, no soul—sinister or self-righteous—could take that from him.

"I was never nothing," he repeated, savoring the statement. And then, with a flash of insight, he opened his awareness once more, looked Nimuë in her disbelieving green eyes and said, almost gently, "And neither were you."

"Shut up!" she growled, but there was a desperate edge in her voice. "Shut up!"

"Make me, Nimuë," he challenged, scarcely believing the confidence that now suffused him. "If you can. If you're so powerful and I'm so inconsequential, then make me. You were the first of us. If you're still so steeped in power, it should be easy for you to force me to do your bidding. But you can't. You can only tempt me with illusion, stoke my fears, lend voice to my doubts, and then hold up a prize before me," his voice hardened, "and trust I'll be so desperate and dazzled that I won't see it's naught but rotting wood and rusting tin, with a gilt veneer that's already flaking away." He sighed and wished it hadn't taken him this long to admit what he now saw he must have known in his heart of hearts, almost from the beginning. "Sorry, dearie," he continued with a faint smile. "What you offer might have been good enough for me once. But I've expanded my horizons. I know what's real. And what you're promising… isn't." He shook his head. "And I believe you know it as well."

"And do you truly think that Fate will grant you anything more than I can?" Nimuë scoffed. "You've been a villain for a long time, Rumple. What makes you think your best efforts will net you any outcome but the obvious? Why not enjoy the time remaining, and give in? Do everything you never dared? Hold nothing back. Give everyone reason to remember you after you're gone."

Rumple smiled. "But don't you see? That's what I've been doing. Perhaps you're right, dearie. Perhaps this _is_ too little too late. I don't know. But my heart hasn't failed me yet. And I'll not squander the scant currency I've acquired on the gaudy baubles you're dangling before me as though they were gems to grace a crown royal." He saw the shock register in the eyes of the first Dark One and sighed once more—not in despair, but with a strange sympathy for this woman, who had charted a path to her own destruction, but who could, perhaps, have turned from it, had she made the choice he was making now, the choice that had always been open for him if he'd only been open to seeing it. "Go away, Nimuë," he said with quiet regret. "I'm afraid that you no longer have anything I want."

* * *

Henry came into the shop at a run. "Sorry I'm late, Grandpa," he exclaimed breathlessly. "I thought I had time for—" He stopped. The shop was empty. But his grandfather wouldn't have left without locking up. He frowned, remembering something his mother had told him about her return to the Enchanted Forest. Regina had sealed her castle with blood magic, but since Zelena was her half-sister, she'd been able to get around it. At the time, Henry had thought that she still would have had to cast a spell, but he hadn't pressed his mother for details. Maybe no magic was necessary. Maybe the spell would just let in anyone with a blood tie to the spell-caster, unless otherwise specified.

Henry frowned. Grandpa wouldn't have left such an obvious loophole without either telling him at the start or leaving him a note. And if Grandpa _had_ left a note… He'd have left it where Henry had been working last. Cautiously, he made his way behind the counter to the case of knickknacks he'd been polishing, when he heard a sound from the back office.

"Grandpa?"

Gold was curled up on the floor. He was breathing normally and seemed to be fast asleep, but there was no way that he'd willingly choose the floor if he needed a nap, especially since Henry hadn't swept the back office yet. Henry thought quickly. He had already jolted one spell-caster out of slumber recently—and nearly gotten himself incinerated in the process. And that spell-caster had been his mother. He wasn't about to risk waking his grandfather—even if Grandpa _had_ been acting a whole lot warmer lately. He thought for a moment. If Grandpa needed help, Emma might be best able to convince him to accept it… But Regina would probably know what to do. And if Dr. Whale was needed, she could use her magic to teleport him to the shop in an instant.

He pulled out his phone and hit the speed-dial. "Mom? You'd better come to the shop _now_ …"

* * *

"It's not his heart," Whale said tersely, without looking up. He was bending over Rumple, while Regina and Henry stood a few feet behind him. Regina had both hands on her son's shoulders.

"Then, what is it?" Henry demanded, a note somewhere between fear and anger in his voice.

"Henry…" Regina murmured.

"Don't tell me he'll be okay when you don't know what's going on!" the boy snapped. "Just tell me the truth!"

"The truth," Whale said in voice firm enough to slice through Henry's outburst of temper, "is that, as much as I'd like to tell you what the matter is, you're right. I don't know. His vitals are strong. His heart rate's a little fast, but nowhere near danger levels. His breathing was faster when I got here, but that's slowed down now, and his blood pressure's dropping into the normal range. Now, I'm going to keep monitoring in order to make sure that his vitals don't slide toward the opposite extreme, but from a medical perspective? It looks like he's recovering from whatever it was that got him this way without anything I'm doing."

He glanced over his shoulder for the first time. "Now, as much as I hate admitting it—and believe me, I do—I don't think there's a medical or scientific reason for his collapse. I can get him back to the hospital and run some more tests, but if this… whatever it is turns out to be magical, I don't think the tests are going to be of much use. And since magic falls well outside my area of expertise," he pursed his lips for a moment and suppressed his irritation, "perhaps your Majesty would like to take a look?"

Regina raised an eyebrow. Then she slowly released her son. "Call Emma," she told him. "And Belle, I suppose." She hesitated. "I'm guessing she's still Rumple's emergency contact?"

Whale nodded. "He set that up shortly after the first curse was broken and never got around to changing it."

Regina nodded back and gave Henry a penetrating glance. "Belle, too, then." Under her breath, she added, "If your optimism proves to be misplaced, she'd never forgive me for not giving her a chance to… Well. Never mind, that. Let's just hope it isn't."

She walked toward Rumple as Henry dug out his phone once more.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin was floating. At least, he thought he was. He couldn't make out his surroundings, couldn't tell whether he was surrounded by water or air, although the fact that he seemed to be able to breathe suggested the latter. His head was light, his limbs were heavy, and he felt oddly relaxed, despite not knowing where he was or how to get back to where he belonged. And then, he felt as though he were rising, buoyed upwards by some gentle current. A cool wave—or breeze, perhaps—washed over his face. He became aware of a firm pressure squeezing each of his hands. He was lying on a bed and someone was patting his forehead with a soft cloth. His breath caught as he remembered the last time he'd awakened under such circumstances—and who had been holding the cloth that time.

"Rumple?" a familiar voice whispered to his right, as his eyes flew open. Then, more loudly, "Regina! Doctor Whale!"

"Gold," another familiar voice said to his left. "Everyone, he's waking up!"

And then, Whale was bending over him and Belle and Emma were releasing his hands, though he was aware of both women hovering close by.

"Do you know who you are?" Whale asked gently.

Rumple nodded. "Rumpelstiltskin."

"Do you know where you are?"

He swiveled his head to his right and to his left. "The shop," he murmured. A frown creased his face. "Or did you mean for me to answer 'Storybrooke'?"

"Grandpa!" Henry exclaimed.

Rumple smiled. "Henry."

Whale wasn't done. "He found you on the floor. Any idea how you ended up there?"

Rumple nodded slowly. "I suppose I could simply state that Nimuë decided that she had something to share with me after all," he said with a hint of his usual dry humor, "but I suppose you lot will only press me for further details." He smiled fondly at each one in turn. "Well. I'd say several of you have earned the right to hear them, and since you'll doubtless share them with the others regardless, I imagine I'd best bow to the inevitable."

"Gold," Emma said, "if you'd rather not say… I mean, we'll back off if you'd rather."

He shook his head. "No. I appreciate the thought, but I think I'd prefer you knew." He frowned. "Actually…" he dipped one hand below the bedclothes and hastily fumbled through his pockets.

"What is it?" Regina asked, just as the hand emerged, holding his cell phone. "You're calling someone else? Who?"

Rumple was smiling again, albeit somewhat sheepishly. "Booth. While this may not fall precisely under the auspices of an agreement I made with him, it's close enough to them that I think he'd be somewhat put out if he had to hear what I'm about to relate from a third party. I'll request your patience until his arrival. And then," he took a breath, "I'll share what I'm able to."

* * *

It was harder to get the words out than he'd thought. For too long, he'd equated openness with vulnerability. And although he was still somewhat flush with a knowledge and power he'd never realized he possessed, he still had centuries of Darkness and despair whispering at him, warning him against disclosing too much, cautioning him that—after all his plots and scheming—nobody would believe what he was about to tell them. They'd only scoff at him. Or laugh at him. Or accuse him of trying to lull them into lowering their guard. They knew him too well. They'd never accept his words without incontrovertible proof.

And yet, somehow, they did.

He'd never put too much faith in Emma's so-called superpower. It was an easy enough thing to be gotten round if one knew its limitations. And certainly, the savior was nearly as capable of blinding herself to truths she didn't wish to acknowledge as anyone else. He'd seen her deny the mounting evidence of the Dark Curse and Booth's reversion to wood past the point when most intelligent people—and Emma was hardly unintelligent—ought to, at least, have questioned what was taking place about them.

But she, who had doubted every hint that Storybrooke, and those who dwelled therein, were far more than they appeared, wasn't doubting him now. Oh, he hadn't missed her stunned expression at various points in his narrative. Not hers and not those of the others gathered about him. But the stupefied looks he was receiving didn't come from a place of incredulity, but from one of belief.

"So," Henry said, when he'd finished, "Is Nimuë… gone, now?"

Gold sighed. "Not for long, I'm afraid," he admitted. "She's been about for a good deal longer than I've been alive. Somehow, I doubt that a scant few seconds of defiance were sufficient to banish her from my consciousness."

He heard heavy footfalls drawing closer and stopped, jerking his head toward the door with a frown. A moment later, Killian stepped through it.

"What's going on?" he asked, taking in the scene at a glance.

"Uh…" Emma hesitated, darting a questioning look in Rumple's direction. Only when he gave a resigned nod did she tersely summarize what he'd been telling them earlier for the pirate's benefit.

Killian listened without interrupting and it was impossible to garner his thoughts from the expression on his face. Finally, when he knew that Emma was done, he sighed. "And there's no way to know when this former Dark One or any of her successors will be back. If any of them are actually gone, that is."

"If you think I'm—" Rumple's angry retort died on his lips and he blinked in surprise. The pirate was wary, yes. But he wasn't insinuating that Rumple had been lying or was even now colluding with his predecessors. More calmly, he went on, "It's hardly as if they've any other place _to_ go." He shook his head. "And just because I could resist them once doesn't mean I'll be able to do so in future. The Darkness learns from each of its hosts in turn. And teaches them." His lips twitched in a bitter smile. "If you think _I'm_ manipulative… consider that, while I may have been a willing pupil, I've yet to surpass my instructors. Now remember that those instructors are currently regrouping for a renewed assault."

Whale cleared his throat. "If these… spirits o-or entities... whatever they are... If they're attacking you from inside your mind, do you think that Dr. Hopper might have any ideas?"

Rumple's expression grew bleaker. "If they should gain the upper hand while I'm sequestered with him, he'd be less able to defend himself than many of you. And if you're thinking of a medical option, it's hard to know whether drugging me would weaken them, or only my ability to resist their influence. I'll grant that up to this point, dearie, taking a scientific approach has worked surprisingly well. But at the end of the day, science is not magic—even though it may appear so if sufficiently advanced. If you're using scientific analogies to help you to understand my situation, I can see how that might prove helpful. At least, at the outset. But at some point, all analogies break down and if you're going to persist in treating my condition as a medical matter, I fear you'll learn the error of that line of thought at the worst possible time."

"So…" Belle let her voice trail off, even as her hand squeezed his and, automatically, his squeezed back. Rumple regarded her sadly for a moment and shook his head. He didn't withdraw his hand, though.

Killian cleared his throat. "You know," he said hesitantly, "there _is_ someone who could probably share some useful information, were he so inclined. Someone who, during my one brief encounter with him, insinuated that he'd made the acquaintance of a vast number of those instructors of yours."

Rumple's eyes widened as he realized who the pirate had to be talking about. "But why would he help _me_?" he demanded.

Killian shrugged. "I suppose there's no guarantee he will. But it wouldn't hurt to ask…"

* * *

"I can sort of get why Gold didn't say anything about Merlin's Apprentice being trapped in the hat," Emma snapped as Killian climbed into her bug. "But you?"

Killian sighed. "When you obtained the means of releasing the fairies, I thought it would release him as well. And, when I realized it hadn't," he had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'll fight any man or woman who comes at me with my sword or with my hook. But neither offers up much defense against a spell-caster with a grudge. I suppose after the close shave I had with the Dark One, I wasn't so eager to face another wizard with reason to attack me."

Emma sighed. Then a strange smile flitted across her face. "But you spoke up now. To help Gold."

"Believe me, Swan, I'm nearly as surprised as you are," Killian muttered. "But think it through. I don't know whether Rumpelstiltskin can truly mend his ways. Having said that… if his recent behavior is any indication, I'll grant that he appears to be trying to. Now, I'm not entertaining any notion that the two of us are ever likely to sit down and share a cask of rum together. However, I have marked a somewhat greater level of tolerance on his part than I might have expected, in light of some recent history."

"So, you're giving him another chance."

Killian shook his head. "I don't know about that," he said slowly. "But I do know this: whatever manner of ceasefire currently exists between us, if that Darkness he carries within succeeds in consuming him, I'm certain I'll be its next meal. So. At present, I have a vested interest in his survival. And if this Apprentice can help to ensure it, I'll chance his wrath, knowing I won't be facing him with naught but my hook and my rugged charm."

"When's your next Battleship game?"

Hook blinked. "It would have been today if he hadn't—" He caught himself, seeing the faint smile tugging at the corner of Emma's mouth. "Poor form, Swan," he muttered.

"It's okay not to hate him," Emma murmured.

Killian shook his head, but the frown on his face was more thoughtful than hostile.

* * *

Regina had decided to open the hat by the wishing well in the woods. "If this Apprentice turns out to be hostile, I'm not releasing him in the middle of town," she'd informed them tartly.

Nobody argued with her. And so it was that some three quarters of an hour later, Emma, Killian, Rumple, August, Henry, Belle, and Whale joined Regina at the well.

"You recall how to do it, dearie?" Rumple asked, when she seemed lost in thought, her eyes on the hat, but her mind apparently engaged elsewhere.

Regina nodded. "I'm just wondering." She looked at August. "Earlier, I think you mentioned that you believe that this is the same man who… considered making you the Author?"

August nodded back. "I'd have to see him to be sure, but I've done my homework over the years and I'm pretty sure it'll be the same guy."

"So, he'll know how to release the current Author."

"I guess," August nodded. "But like I told you a couple of weeks back, there's a reason why he was imprisoned in the first place. And, while I don't know what it is, I somehow don't think that just because the Apprentice now knows what it's like to be locked up, he'll suddenly have a change of heart and decide to undo that spell." He shook his head, a troubled look on his face. "There have been Authors operating for thousands of years and in all that time? This is the only one I've heard of who had to be… punished like this. And there's one other thing I _do_ know, something you need to keep in mind, too. Authors are people. Humans like you or me. They're not gods, they're not immortal, and they're not omnipotent. If you're looking for a happy ending, I'm not so sure he's the ticket."

Regina sighed. "Maybe not, but he's the best lead I've got."

"Are you certain of that, your Majesty?" Killian asked. "It sounds to me as though, for all his alleged power, he's a hireling. Your interests might be better served if you approached his master directly." He jerked his head meaningfully toward the hat.

Regina's eyebrows lifted and she gave the pirate the slightest nod of acknowledgment. "Anyone else have anything to say before I do this?" she asked.

The others glanced, first to her, and then to one another. Nobody spoke. Regina nodded, her mind made up. "Henry," she began.

"I'm staying," the boy said firmly.

"Kid…" This from Emma.

"No," Henry said. "I've been working on this as much as any of you. I'm not leaving."

Emma let out a heavy breath. "Just stay behind me. And if things get weird, run."

Henry obeyed, not quite able to keep a triumphant smile off his face.

Regina squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "All right," she said steadily. "I'll start the spell." And hope to hell she wasn't about to unleash the next deadly threat on her town.


	50. Chapter Fifty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: According to the OUAT wiki, the Sorcerer's Mansion is, in actuality, the Cecil Green Park House. I'm borrowing some of the room details from their website in order to set the scene.

**Chapter Fifty**

He seemed remarkably spry for an elderly man, Regina reflected. As it had been with the fairies not long ago, the Apprentice seemed somewhat shaken and disoriented when first he emerged from the hat, but he recovered quickly and surveyed the people clustered about with a piercing gaze.

Then he nodded to himself as though satisfied and smiled at Regina. "I expect I've you to thank for my release," he said genially.

Regina inclined her head by the barest fraction. "Actually," she replied, "it was more of a joint effort. Hook told us you were still in there, and it was Rumple's spell that I cast."

The Apprentice focused his gaze on the two men in question, both of whom appeared apprehensive. Regina could guess why. After a moment, though, the old man smiled thoughtfully. "My master used to say that a change of heart benefits more people than the one who changes it," he said. "My thanks to both of you."

Some of Rumple's tension seemed to ease, though it was plain that he was still quite nervous. Hook managed a relieved smile. Regina cleared her throat. "We… have some questions, if you're up for them," she said.

If he was surprised or put out, it didn't show on his face. "Such could scarcely be otherwise," he replied. "But the skies are threatening snow and while I might be able to do something to avert such circumstance, since magic does come with a price, perhaps we might seek more comfortable surroundings than these in advance of the weather." His smile turned hopeful. "And perhaps, some tea and biscuits would be in order. I haven't had either in several weeks, it would seem."

"Granny's?" Emma suggested.

"The mansion?" Henry asked at the same time.

The Apprentice favored the boy with a shrewd look. "I think that would be best. There should be ample seating in the library. And I believe you'll find ginger biscuits in the kitchen. Ground floor, turn right after the main entrance, take the door on the left that opens on the corridor, and it's at the end of the hall, last door on the left."

"Why tell us?" Regina asked. "Aren't you coming with us?"

"I'll join you directly," the Apprentice said. "However, as well-stocked as that kitchen may be, it lacks vanilla rooibos tea. I'll fetch some from my own dwelling and meet you in… say, one hour?"

Before anyone could answer, the Apprentice vanished in a shimmer of rose-colored light.

The others exchanged bemused glances. "I… guess he really likes his tea," August murmured.

"Back to town, then?" Belle ventured.

"Not much point staying here," Rumple agreed, already taking a step in the direction of their parked cars.

The others followed on his heels.

* * *

Ninety minutes later, there was still no sign of the Apprentice and the others were getting concerned. At least, the adults were. Henry, bored and growing tired of sitting still, was browsing through a shelf of books. Belle contemplated joining him; it would give her something to do. And, while Rumple was, at least, speaking with her now, it was still only when necessary and, when it wasn't necessary, their silences were more awkward than companionable. Still, as a child, Henry might be excused for leaving the council table and pursuing his own interests. Belle didn't believe that her copying him would sit well with the others. She sighed inwardly. Here she'd thought that she was done worrying about what other people thought. So much for _that_ idea. She ought to just push her chair back and walk over to the shelf. She stayed seated and tried to pay attention to the idle conversation taking place about her.

"How were Blue and the others after you let them out?" Emma asked Regina with a frown.

Regina shrugged. "Pretty much like you saw just now: a bit shaken up and disoriented, but on the whole, fine and glad to be free."

"Not exhausted, then? O-or sick, or…?"

"Not that I saw," Regina confirmed. "Though I certainly didn't spend much time hovering over them once I'd freed them. I just… arranged for the dwarfs to drive them back to the convent and that was that."

"For the record?" August ventured. "Yeah, that's the guy who interviewed me. He hasn't changed much." He hesitated. "At least, I don't think he has; but then, I only met him for about half an hour, over a decade ago."

Rumple gave him a thin smile. "I suppose I can understand why he made an impression on you."

"What's taking him so long?" Hook asked. "D'you think one of us ought to go check on him?"

"Maybe give it a little longer," Emma suggested. She glanced at August. "Remember that snowstorm we had on the way home. Maybe the Apprentice is checking to make sure _his_ pipes didn't freeze."

Regina regarded her for a moment, and it wasn't certain whether the irritation on her face was more from Emma's comment or from the old man's delay. After a moment, she pulled out her phone. "I think your parents ought to be here, too," she said finally. "I'll ask them to stop by the old man's house and make sure he's all right."

She glanced from Gold to Killian. "What address?"

"Mom!" Henry hurried back to the table, his finger holding his place in a thick hardcover. He looked from Emma to Regina. "Moms! Grandpa…"

Regina reached for the book. "You found something?" she asked.

"Sort of." His gaze flicked from one adult to the next, resting on Rumple. "Grandpa, Mom—I mean, Emma—told me that you were trying to figure out how this place came over with the second curse." He passed the tome across the table, opening it to where his finger marked the place as he did so. "If I'm reading this right, I don't think it did."

"Henry," Regina said, with a frown, "I know just about every square inch of this town. For twenty-eight years, I was almost the only person aware of the nature of what was going on and… when the monotony got to be a bit much, I explored the length and breadth of it. This mansion isn't anything I ever came across until now."

"I know," Henry said. "It didn't come over _with_ the first curse, but it did come over after it…"

Rumple drew the book closer, his eyes widening as they moved down the page. "Well," he said faintly, "this _is_ enlightening."

"What's it say?" August asked.

Rumple took a breath. "It corroborates what the two of you," he looked from Belle to Emma, "were telling me earlier. The hat _was_ a test. Or, as you referred to it on a previous occasion, a setup." He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and continued, a slight tremor in his voice marring its evenness. "In the event that a Dark One is able to put aside their," one corner of his mouth turned up wryly and a sardonic note crept into his tone, "their 'base, self-serving instincts' and take the first step back to the Light on their own… Then, if this is correct, the hat 'comes to them at the appropriate time'."

"Neverland!" Emma and Regina exclaimed, almost at the same time.

"When you were ready to give your life to save Henry," Regina gave her son a loving smile, "despite the prophecy that he'd be your undoing—"

"—it must have set this… this…" Emma cast about looking for a better word before she decided to use the first one that had sprung to her mind as the product of an upbringing far more technological than magical, "... _program_ ," she said, "running and brought the hat and the mansion to Storybrooke!"

"And less than twenty-four hours later," Regina continued, "We found out that Henry and Pan had switched bodies, Pan cast the curse, you," she looked at Rumple unflinching, barely pausing before she went on, "…died, and my re-casting wiped Storybrooke and everything in it out of existence."

"Including the mansion," Belle breathed.

Rumple nodded. "I'm guessing that when you prepared the curse anew, you didn't try anything fancy, Your Majesty?"

Regina shook her head. "No, I just set it to bring back everything to the way it had been before Pan's casting." Her eyes widened. "Everything…" she repeated.

"Including the mansion," August said, echoing Belle. "And the hat."

* * *

"You know," Snow said, "I don't think I've ever been down this street before."

David drove slowly, paying close attention to the numbers on the houses they passed. "Well, it's a residential street," he murmured. "I don't know anyone else who lives on it either."

"Still, after more than thirty years… I mean, David, this town isn't _that_ big. And who is this 'Apprentice' anyway?"

David shrugged as he parked the truck in front of a perfectly ordinary-looking dwelling. "Huh," he muttered.

"What?"

"Look at the walk," David said. "No footprints. So, either he teleported inside, or he can levitate, or he never made it back here."

"Or Rumpelstiltskin gave Regina the wrong address," Snow said.

"Why would he do that?"

Snow shook her head. "I don't know, but it bothers me."

David got out and went around to the front of the truck to open the door for his wife. "Well, we don't know that he did, so let's not assume the worst yet. Come on."

The two walked up to the front door and, after a moment's hesitation, David rapped sharply upon it. Almost at once, they heard footsteps from inside the house.

"Uh, hi," David said, as the door opened. "Sorry to bother you. Regina sent us to make sure—" His words died on his lips as he recognized the old man standing before him. " _You!_ "

* * *

Emma ended the call and pocketed her phone with an annoyed look on her face.

"What's happened?" Belle asked.

Emma didn't answer for a moment. Then she released a heavy sigh. "Just when you think things are already as complicated as they're going to get, Fate decides to throw a calculus textbook into the mix."

"Don't suppose you could elaborate on that?" August asked, suppressing a smile.

"Uh, you know that big fight I had with my parents and why?"

Everyone at the table, with the exception of Whale—who had been mostly silent since their arrival—nodded.

Emma hesitated again. "Well, from what Dad told me just now, I think I know what the Author did to get himself imprisoned…"

* * *

The old man set two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits down on the round wooden table. "I was hoping to consult with my master before joining the others at the mansion," he admitted. "I'm afraid he's proving unavailable."

Neither Nolan reached for a cup. "So, you're saying," David said skeptically, "that the Author wrote down that you told us we had to transfer Emma's potential for Darkness to another vessel and you just… had to cast the spell that would do it?"

The Apprentice raised an eyebrow. "Such incredulity? When a man of your acquaintance can be compelled to obey the will of whosoever wields his dagger?" He made a scoffing sound. "You ought to be aware that the pen is mightier than the sword. Or the quill the blade."

"But with your magic, surely…" Snow's voice trailed off.

The old man shook his head. "You're aware that I'm styled 'the Apprentice'," he said. "That rather implies I've still much to learn. And as for the quill, its power has grown since it was fashioned—and its fashioning dates back to the very dawn of time. I doubt that Merlin himself could break free of its sway." His eyes grew thoughtful. "Though that is something I've never had the temerity to ask him," he added. "Suffice that I could not," he continued briskly. "And since the Author also wrote that I could tell nobody that his will had been superimposed over my own, I had no way to caution others that my actions were not my own."

"But couldn't he have written that there was no way to stop him?" David asked.

The Apprentice gave him a hard look. "You can be thankful he didn't have the imagination to do so. And since his… writing career… was overseen by me, and since he did not know that there was another to whom I was answerable and accountable, he didn't realize that I was but a gatekeeper in this endeavor. Or that I had a master with the power to scry the stars and see how he'd misused the gift he'd been given."

He shook his head. "I trust that answers your questions and accusations. I feel I ought to apologize to you for what was done, even though I was powerless to countermand the directives that were penned for me."

He hadn't been able to keep a worried frown from his face while he spoke and it only deepened as he went on. "I don't believe that my master is able to respond to me, though I'd hoped otherwise. Finish your refreshments, if you please. It's past time we rejoined the others."

* * *

While the others around the table engaged in small talk to try to pass the time until the magician—or rather, the Apprentice—joined them, Rumple pushed back his chair and murmured something about wanting to stretch his legs. Belle waited for a moment or two before she got up and followed, hoping she wasn't making a mistake.

She found him on the second floor, in a minstrels' gallery, looking down on a spacious walnut-paneled room with glass-fronted bookcases. Belle noted that the gallery had two doors situated at opposite ends of the back wall. Good. As much as she wanted to talk to him, she knew that backing him into a corner wasn't a wise move. Not after all the other times she'd trapped him—or tried to—with the best of intentions. She couldn't try to convince him to give her another chance if she was going to sink back into the same old patterns. "Rumple?"

His shoulders slumped at the sound of her voice and he did not turn to face her. "Belle."

If she'd heard anger or loathing in his voice, anything other than resigned weariness, she might have backed away. Had there been any warmth or welcome, she would have drawn closer. Instead, she stood in the doorway, feeling as if she were walking on a flimsy bridge that might collapse at any moment. "P-please, Rumple. Just let me talk."

He let out a heavy breath. "There's no point in talking, Belle. Just go."

"I'm not going anywhere." _Mistake_ , a voice hissed in her mind, even as she saw her husband's posture stiffen. She was still doing it: ignoring his requests, trying to prove she knew what he needed better than he did, trying to get him to do what she wanted without once considering why he might be refusing. Quickly, adopting a more conciliatory tone, she all but blurted, "Please, please, I just want a chance to be heard."

Rumple turned toward her then, anger and pain glinting coldly in his brown eyes. "Another one?" he asked flatly. He shook his head as his voice grew bitter. "Well. When, in the past, have I not granted you that? Even when I expelled you from my castle, I heard you out before you left. Speak, then, if you think you must."

She flinched at the fury that simmered beneath his words. Then she nodded slowly. "That… was the first time I made a mess of everything, wasn't it?" she asked. "I was so sure that you wanted to be free of your curse, so certain that if I could only break it for you, you'd be happy…" She took another breath. "Rumple? What would have happened if I'd done it differently? Suppose I'd come back from the village, told you I'd met someone on the road who'd told me that True Love's Kiss could break any curse, and offered to try? In-instead of assuming I knew what was best and went ahead and did it?"

She tensed, waiting for him to brush her off or, perhaps, brush past her in search of another place of refuge. Instead, his eyes widened slightly. And when he spoke again, although there was scant warmth in his voice, at least its edge seemed less sharp. "That was a long time ago," he said slowly. "And we were both… different." He waited for her slight nod, before he continued. "But if I had to speculate, I imagine I would have laughed in your face at first. Then cautioned you not to try it. And, at the first opportunity, I believe I would have had a word or two with Regina—likely words you wouldn't have been overly familiar with unless, during your delicate upbringing, you'd had reason to frequent soldiers' barracks."

Belle blinked at the faint note of humor in his words—a humor far less bitter than she'd expected to hear.

He wasn't finished. "But in the scenario you describe," he continued pensively, "I don't believe I would have sent you away. I might have offered you your freedom after making it plain that I had no interest in giving up my power, and had you accepted, there would have been an end of u—of _it_ ," he amended hastily. "But in that circumstance, I'd venture to guess you would have passed your last evening in surroundings more comfortable than that cell."

Belle nodded, closing her eyes to hold back the tears that burned and threatened to overflow them. "I'm sorry," she said. "For that, and for not learning from that mistake afterwards. That's… I guess that's all I wanted to tell you." She took a step toward him. Then she shook her head, took a shuddering breath, released it, spun on her heel, and left the gallery at a brisk trot. Her heels clicked a frantic staccato on the wooden floor, growing fainter as they receded down the hallway.

Had she been a fraction of a second slower, she might have seen Rumple's hand begin to extend toward her, even as he took an involuntary step in her direction.

* * *

He loved her still, but he wasn't sure he could risk letting her in again. He'd never planned to. Oh, he'd needed someone to keep house for him; that much had been true. He'd been working at crafting the Dark Curse for decades, his research frequently leading to blind alleys and dead ends. But matters had finally been coming to a head. Progress, which had, in the beginning, assumed a near-glacial pace was now snowballing as one piece after another fell into place. He didn't have time to bother with such mundanities as tidiness or organization. And yet, without those mundanities, his work would stall as he searched fruitlessly for this ingredient and that scroll.

Duke Maurice had needed his help. And his daughter could read Fairy. Among other languages. She had a good head for books and research. He could use that. So. He'd set the terms of the deal. She'd accepted them. Over the protests of father and fiancé.

Had she begun to win his heart, even on that first day, when she'd declared for all to hear that nobody would determine her fate but herself? He'd taken the dagger and killed Zoso for that privilege. It hadn't occurred to him that members of the nobility could be just as powerless as he'd once been. If he hadn't begun to love her then, he'd at least recognized something of a kindred spirit in her. And in the months that followed that day, he'd grown to love her, even if he hadn't quite recognized it.

There'd been a thousand rationalizations. Of course, he'd rescued her from Ursula, Maleficent, and Cruella. Couldn't have those 'Queens of Darkness' spreading rumors that he _couldn't_ confront them when they stole someone out from under his nose. Couldn't let anyone think that he was _afraid_ to confront them. And nobody stole from the Dark One. Nobody blackmailed the Dark One with impunity. It hadn't been love that had sent him racing after her or letting loose his fury on those three afterwards.

And he'd only caught her when she'd tumbled off the ladder because good help was hard to find and he didn't want to clean up the mess she'd make on the stone floor.

And…

And he'd actually believed all of that until she'd kissed him. And then he'd seen that she was just another one out to weaken the Dark One. Out to take away his power. Out to…

Well. He hadn't believed that part, not even when he'd accused her. But her actions had only reminded him that love was a weapon. And in the proper hands, it could cut more keenly than any dagger,, including his. He couldn't take the chance that she'd keep him from his goal, not when he was so close. He couldn't risk her stealing his power—and her actions had demonstrated that, whatever her reasons, she'd _wanted_ to. It hadn't really been her fault; he realized that once his temper abated. But she was still too dangerous to keep. So he'd turned her out… and when the Queen had informed him of what had happened afterwards, he'd had one more loss to blame himself for. It would be nearly thirty years before he'd realize he'd been lied to. Pity the Seer's talent hadn't been useful on that score.

He'd found her again at last, but he'd been terrified of losing her. Resigned to it, loving her enough to let her go, he'd tried backing off, but each time, she'd given him hope and reason to think that Fate might finally grant him some small happiness. He just had to try his best to be a better person. Become the person she convinced him he still could be.

While so much of his heart railed against it.

It hadn't been until she'd wielded what she'd believed to be his dagger that he'd understood. She was one more person who wanted to control him. Once more, he'd learned that love was a weapon. If he wanted to keep hers, he had to do as she wished. And really, how would she react if she knew how Dark he could be? As much as she'd told him he could tell her anything, he hadn't dared to fully take her up on it.

It had been a wise move, as he'd learned over two months ago. When he was able to suppress his Darker urges, act as though he'd changed, 'did the virtuous thing and hoped virtue would follow,' then all was well. But the slightest slip and he risked losing her. And that loss cut deep. Because he _had_ thought she loved him for who he was, _had_ thought she understood. And to have her prove otherwise after he'd lowered his walls and let her in? No. He'd been right to back away this last time. He'd been honest with her, finally, as she'd always demanded of him. Maybe he hadn't deserved any better treatment than he'd received at her hands, but she'd let him think he might expect it, only to turn on him.

_What would have happened if I'd done it differently?_

The question stabbed through the defensive wall he'd erected to protect himself. And despite his fears and doubts, despite the distance he'd tried to keep between himself and the woman he loved…

For the first time in over a fortnight, he felt the faintest glimmer of hope that perhaps, if he gave love another chance, things could go differently.

Perhaps.

* * *

She'd just wanted him to be the good man she'd always seen behind the monster—and she had always seen him. Even when she'd told him otherwise, what she'd really meant was that she'd believed the monster to be gone and, like a mud stain on a white tablecloth, once she'd spotted the monster again, that had been all she saw. Not that the tablecloth hadn't been there too, but that her focus had been on the stain. The stain she'd finally despaired of washing out.

She sucked in her breath. What had he said about not blaming her for disposing of something ruined beyond repair?

Belle stepped outside, heedless of the cold, and stood on the terrace, leaning against the stone wall. She'd been horrified to hear Rumple describe himself so. She was more horrified to realize that he'd been right. That had been exactly how she'd been acting. She might have phrased it differently. She'd definitely rationalized it. But at the end of the day, face to face with the monster she'd been telling herself was gone… she'd rejected him.

She hadn't even tried to understand. After everything Zelena had done, of course Rumple would want to be free of his dagger. And, though she hadn't known of Hook's attempts at blackmail until Emma had enlightened her, of course Rumple would have reacted far more disproportionately toward someone who had tried to bend him to their will after that year of slavery. Someone else who thought they could order him about with impunity. Someone else who…

No, it was no mystery that Rumple had brought the monster to the fore. The mystery was that he'd done his best to hide it from her, for as long as he could, despite her attempts to force him into a mold he hadn't fit and then blamed him for not fitting it. It was easy enough to condemn Hook for his actions. But what of her own? Every time he'd tried to do the right thing… not because it was right, not because he wanted to, but because he had every reason to believe he'd lose her if he didn't… If that wasn't a form of blackmail too, Belle didn't know what was.

Had she realized that she'd used his love for her as a weapon against him? A shred of a conversation she'd had with Emma after Rumple's revelations on their second night in New York came back to her.

_"Either I was callous or I was clueless,"_ Emma had said bitterly. _"Seriously. I feel like I just came face to face with myself and I want to throw something heavy at the mirror."_

Belle knew how Emma had felt. The monster she'd seen when she'd looked at Rumple that night at the town line… It had been there, of course. It had never really gone away. But she wondered whether it had truly been Rumple she'd meant to drive away…

…Or her own reflection.

At least, he'd spoken to her. He'd answered her question. And maybe… maybe there had been the tiniest crack in the fortress he'd constructed to keep her at arm's length. Maybe.

But now wasn't the time to push for a reconciliation. Pushing too hard would surely push him further away. As much as she yearned to tell him that she'd been trying to change, trying to be the person he needed her to be, trying to…

Her eyes opened wide. "No wonder he's not letting me back in," she whispered. "If I've been making him feel like—" She sucked in several breaths of crisp, cold air. Then she realized that someone was calling her name and she turned to see Whale standing in the doorway she'd just come through.

"The Apprentice is back," the doctor said apologetically. He frowned. "Aren't you cold out here?"

Belle shrugged, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to discuss the matter. "I suppose you're going to tell me I'll catch my death of pneumonia."

Whale smiled and shook his head. "No, even if that was a prevailing myth in my realm, too. But cold temperatures could dry out the lining of your nose which could make you more susceptible to infection..." His voice trailed off as his smile fell away. "Are you all right?"

Belle forced herself to nod. "I'm fine," she said, pasting on a bright smile. "Let's go back to the library."

* * *

"I can't get over how many different types of trees went into this," August murmured, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "And not common ones either. Flame mahogany in the dining room, Australian walnut in here…" He caught Rumple's impatience and shrugged. "The Apprentice is back. Thought you might want to head back to the library. Unless you need a minute?"

Rumple shook his head. "I suppose there's no point in delaying the inevitable," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Gold? You okay?"

Rumple sighed. "The curse gave me false memories of being an indifferent student in school. It's interesting to discover that I still have no interest in knowing precisely how badly I failed an examination, once I knew I had."

August hesitated for a moment. Then he reached out a hand to clap Rumple on the shoulder. "Maybe there's a remake," he said.

Rumple shook his head, but a bitter smile played on his lips. "I've the worrying notion that it _was_ the remake I failed."

"Well don't sign up for summer school yet," August said. "To continue the analogy, the grades haven't been posted yet. You might have done better than you think."

Rumple regarded him for a moment. Then he sucked in a breath and released it noisily. "Well, I can scarcely see how I could have done worse," he muttered, gently shaking himself loose from August's hand and heading for the closest door out of the gallery.

August fell into step behind him.

* * *

There were three more chairs occupied at the table, Rumple saw. Emma's charming parents had arrived, together with the Apprentice. There were also two empty seats that had previously been filled. Rumple wasn't sure whether to be worried or relieved that one of them was Belle's. Then the door opened again and Belle and Whale entered hurriedly, mumbling apologies.

The Apprentice smiled at them as they tumbled into the two vacant chairs. "In point of fact, the apology's mine," he remarked. "After recent surprising turns of events, I'd thought it wise to consult with a head more knowledgeable and experienced than mine before proceeding." He hesitated, and Rumple realized for the first time that the man was worried, though he hid it well. "Unfortunately, that option doesn't appear to be open to me." He took a breath. "So. It's hardly fair to make the rest of you wait indefinitely."

Regina hesitated. "You can change my ending?" she asked.

The Apprentice raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what you've been doing on your own?"

It was rare for the formerly-Evil Queen to appear flustered, but her usual collected poise wasn't much in evidence at the moment. "I-I've made changes," she said, "but no matter what happens, after a brief respite, everything just… blows up in my face. My mother murdered my first love. I had to send my son away, never expecting to see him again. My sister tricked my new love away from me and is now carrying his child…" Her voice trailed off.

The Apprentice shook his head sadly. "Has your Majesty never seen the underside of a tapestry?"

"What?"

A slight smile came to his lips, though there was no merriment in his voice. "If you haven't, you ought to. All knots and tangles and threads that zig and zag and vanish into clumps, only to surface elsewhere. A mess, in point of fact. But if one turns the work to the other side, it's easier to see the true picture." He shook his head. "In hindsight, it's easier to see how a destiny can be shaped by both free choice and fate. But that's hindsight. And no comfort to you, I know."

"I don't want comfort!" Regina snapped. "I want my happy ending!"

"And you would use the Author's quill to compel one?" the Apprentice asked, quite coolly.

Regina hesitated. "Well, I tried using brute force a few times," she said. "I tried doing the right thing afterwards. The results haven't been appreciably different."

"Really?" the Apprentice asked. "Can you truly claim that your life has been no better since you took it upon yourself to turn away from the Darkness that once overpowered you?"

Regina flushed. Then, slowly, her gaze panned the room, taking in the others seated at the table. Her son. Her stepdaughter and her son's biological mother—two close friends when, for over twenty-eight years, she'd barely been able to claim a casual acquaintance that the Curse hadn't 'programmed' to want to be in a relationship with her. She remembered the rush of incredulity, joy, and determination when she'd used Light magic to defeat her sister. As alive and excited as Dark magic had made her feel, it had been but a pale shadow of that thrill. But… "Are you telling me that I _can_ have a happy ending?"

"If you've the wisdom to recognize it when you've found it," the Apprentice cautioned. "And that's not always easy when it doesn't look as you might have expected." He smiled apologetically. "I'm no seer. I can't say what form your happy ending is taking. But I assure you that your potential for one is as great as that of any other." He paused. "Well. Nearly any other, I suppose."

Regina exhaled more noisily than her dignity would normally have allowed and she gulped in another breath. "Thank you."

The Apprentice shook his head. "It's a strange thing to be thanked for stating the obvious."

And then, Belle spoke up somewhat nervously. "Is that true for Rumple, too?"

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin flinched. He'd had no intention of drawing the Apprentice's focus—not when he had no safe means of protecting himself. Not when he _knew_ what the Apprentice's answer would be. Getting free of the dagger would have assured him his happy ending. But on that score?

_Every Dark One tries. Every Dark One fails._

And while his heart might be better halved than it had been whole, even if Regina was able to find a compatible match, even if a complete transplant would work as the others seemed to hope, none of that would alter the fact that he _was_ the Dark One.

Suddenly, the letters reappearing on the dagger—the 'k', a mere outline two days earlier was beginning to shade in—seemed less a reason for optimism than a reminder. There could be no happy ending for him. No matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to change, no matter how long he was able to suppress his worst self, it _was_ a part of him and would be until he died. And the Apprentice was hardly about to overlook it.

He realized that the room had grown silent and that everyone—including the Apprentice—appeared to be staring at him. He blinked. "I beg your pardon," he said diffidently. "What was it you asked?"

The Apprentice smiled. "I merely wanted to know if you're ready now to take a path that was first presented you some thirty years ago." His face was serious, though there was more than a hint of kindness in both eyes and voice. "Are you prepared to relinquish your role as the Dark One and take the second chance that can be offered?"

Rumple froze. He hadn't expected— He'd stepped away from Nimuë, yes, but she'd simply been the embodiment of the force that wanted its freedom and his _death_. He'd never truly thought that he could be free of—

Eyes wide, he scanned the room, looking at each of the others about the table in turn, trying to keep the hope that the Apprentice's question had kindled from showing on his face. On each face, he read support, relief, elation—

He froze. And then, almost hesitantly, he asked, "But what then of my magic? I assume that it would be forfeit?"

The Apprentice raised an eyebrow. "Such magic as was granted to you when you became the Dark One would be taken from you when you are no longer he."

Rumple closed his eyes and nodded. For a moment, he'd actually believed… Well. Never mind that now. There was no point in dwelling on what couldn't be altered. "Then," he said, lowering his eyes and shaking his head, "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't."


	51. Chapter Fifty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: References to S2E4: "The Crocodile" and S2E20: "The Evil Queen".

**Chapter Fifty-One**

"Why?" David demanded. "You've come so far. You're this close to… to…" He shook his head. "What is it? Do you love power that much, even when that's what's killing you?"

Rumple shot the prince a furious look. "I owe you no explanation," he retorted.

"Just… just help us understand," Belle said. "Because otherwise, it does look like—"

"Like what?" Rumple countered. "Like I still place magic above all else?" He looked Belle dead in the eye. "I do. That never changed and never will." He glanced away quickly, not wanting to see the full impact of his words on her demeanor, but as he did, he caught the look on Emma's face and his heart sank. How could he have forgotten about—? Abruptly, he pushed his chair away from the table, reached for his cane, and stalked off, muttering something about having nothing more to say and moving with surprising swiftness despite his bad ankle.

For a long moment after his departure, nobody spoke. Then Regina sighed. "I guess we could have seen that coming. I've had enough setbacks with my own efforts to have realized that some relapsing on his part ought to have been expected." She shook her head.

"I know," Snow said. "But to see him come so close…"

Belle shook her head. "Should we be happy he's finally being honest?"

"That's just it," Emma said. "He isn't."

"Wait," David said. "What?"

Emma took a deep breath. "Dad, my… superpower, much as I hate to admit it, isn't always as reliable as I want it to be. Half-truths, misdirection, saying something you _believe_ to be true, even if it's not… All of that's like tinfoil in my radar. A bald-faced lie on the other hand? I can always spot one of those. When he agreed with your accu— Your _question_ ," she amended, "my lie detector started screaming. Whatever his reason or reasons… that's not it."

"Then…" Killian hesitated, "what other motive could he have had?"

Emma shook her head apologetically. "Sorry, Killian. Just because I can detect when someone's lying to me doesn't mean I can also see the real truth."

She turned to the Apprentice. "Do you know where he went?" she asked. "Can you send me there?"

The Apprentice nodded.

"Wait," August said. "Better make it both of us. Belle?"

Belle half-rose. Then she shook her head regretfully. "I… I think I've pushed him enough for one day. Maybe too much. I'm sorry."

"Okay," Emma said. "Sit tight." She looked back at the Apprentice once more.

"You can send us both?"

The old man nodded once more. "I suppose you'd consider it an invasion of his privacy were I to cast a spell to allow me to be privy to the conversation you hope will ensue."

"More to the point," August replied, " _he_ almost definitely will."

The Apprentice nodded. "This is a delicate situation. And without my master's guidance, I'll need certain assurances before I can extend him such aid as is in my power to provide. While the spell I suggested would go a long way toward giving me those assurances—at least, we can _hope_ for that and not the opposite—I'll trust your judgment in this matter and cast no spell apart from the one I'll use now to send you to him."

Emma gave him an appreciative smile. "Thank you."

"There may be a split-second's disorientation," the Apprentice cautioned. "It passes swiftly."

He closed his eyes and waved his hand negligently in their direction.

A moment later, there were two empty seats at the table.

* * *

Rumple was almost to his car when they materialized before him and he started involuntarily.

"Hey," Emma said, holding up her hands, palms facing him, "easy. It's just us."

Of course it was. And they'd just caught him unawares. "Were I interested in a conversation, I'd have stayed where I was," he snapped.

"I know," Emma said.

"Then why are you here?" It was almost a snarl.

Emma shook her head. "I… guess you forgot about my superpower."

"I'm just here as backup in case she messes up," August deadpanned. Emma rolled her eyes slightly, half-inviting Gold in on the joke.

The older man scowled.

Emma sighed. "I'm not going to badger you," she said tiredly. "Really, I just wanted to tell you… something I keep telling myself: my curiosity doesn't trump your right to privacy. Right now? I won't pretend I'm not curious about why you turned the Apprentice down. But my superpower already told me one important thing: whatever your reason for turning the Apprentice down, it's not about love of power." Hesitantly, she rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment and gave him a sad smile. "And I guess, when you get down to it, that's the only thing I really have to know. The rest, I just _want_ to."

Rumple closed his eyes, sucked in a breath, and released it. When he opened them again, although he fixed them on Emma long enough to give her an appreciative smile, it was August who was his main focus.

"I know that when we were in Manhattan," he began, "I gave you reason to believe that I would willingly undo that which was done to your grandparents."

"Well, yeah," August said, "but if using magic could kill you…"

Rumple nodded soberly. "I'll not insult you by pretending that, with everything else that's been happening in town since our return, their fate has always been uppermost in my thoughts. But their… enchanted forms have always been present in my shop. I suppose I've just… noticed them more since my return," he continued.

"I've lost count of the people I've harmed over the centuries. Some wronged me first, though in hindsight, I'll admit my response was frequently… disproportionate. Some?" He sighed. "Were merely unfortunate enough to be in my way. I'll not pretend that there wasn't a time," he said with a hint of bitter humor, "when I considered that a capital offense." He waited, watching their reactions and when they nodded encouragingly, he went on. "There's no point in rehashing all I've done over the last two centuries," he continued, shaking his head, "but suffice to say that my current heart condition is hardly the result of a single Dark act." He drew another breath. "But your grandparents," he told August, "fell into neither category. Their fate came about through error and, for all my skill at rationalization, even I can't twist the truth enough to justify their current state. When neither Jiminy nor Gepetto approached me to free them, I debated with myself whether to initiate contact on my own. But," he sighed, "with the reputation I not only enjoyed, but cultivated in those days, I doubted that either of them allow me a moment to explain my business before either ordering me away or attempting to flee. And I had other, more immediate, concerns. Over time, the incident slipped to the back of my mind, until I could look at those puppets on a daily basis and barely see them. And now?" He shook his head. "The spell that transformed them can only be reversed by the person who created the original enchantment. Created, not cast. And yes," he nodded, "that's me. After this much time, it must be cast with fresh magic, not something siphoned off and reserved for a time of need."

"I take it," August said, "that isn't something you can safely do at the moment."

"I can't do it at all," Rumple snapped, somewhat shocked that he was admitting it instead of trying to brazen his way through. "Any use of magic will Darken my heart further and there isn't much Light left in it as it is. I daren't even risk something as mundane as masking my limp and the level of magic I'll need to lift the spell on your grandparents is anything but mundane."

"Hey," August said, "It's okay. I understand. Nobody expects you to restore their lives at the cost of yours."

Rumple sucked in another breath. "I-I realize that," he gulped. "But when the Apprentice made his offer, I realized something else. My name returning to the dagger… my heart regenerating… Those can both be taken as indicators that my condition may not be as permanent as I'd initially presumed. In time," he continued, "it may be safe enough for me to reverse that enchantment. I can't say when. I can't even say if. But I can say this: the possibility of my restoring your grandparents is less remote today than it was a week ago." He lowered his eyes and said in a near whisper, "But only if I still retain my magic."

He felt Emma's hands tighten on his shoulders and he exhaled and gulped in fresh, cold air. "It's one thing," he continued, "to avoid settling an account when one lacks the capital to do so at a certain point, but intends to rectify the situation at the first opportunity. While the other party may not be overjoyed at such a delay, depending on the debtor's reliability, one might not be overly surprised to find them somewhat understanding of circumstance. But if I accept the Apprentice's offer, it means giving up all possibility of that spell ever being reversed." He locked his eyes on August's again.

"And you expect your father to receive me at his table knowing that I've bought my life at the cost of theirs? While selflessness is hardly a character trait I can pride myself on, the same can't be said of paying debts. I honor mine and this is one of them."

He looked at Emma. "You've made some significant breakthroughs recently simply by recognizing that certain parameters purportedly set by a Light wizard hardly fell under the rubric of "Good". Well. I find myself applying some of that reasoning now. If the cost of abandoning my previous Dark path is condemning two innocents to remain in their enchanted state for eternity, well, that's hardly anyone's definition of 'good' either, is it? Wouldn't you say rather that it smacks of the same self-interest that's marked my choices these past centuries?" He shook his head. "I think I'd best continue as I am and trust the possibility that I might safely break that enchantment at some point in the future. Otherwise, I suspect that the actions I undertake to Lighten my heart will only Darken it irrevocably. And we all know what that would mean."

Wordlessly, Emma nodded as she pulled him in for a hug and he closed his eyes and allowed it. And then, he heard a crackle, felt warmth behind him, and realized that there was no breeze blowing and that he could hear a muffled murmur of voices somewhere to his left.

He opened his eyes and found that he and the others were back inside the mansion (though not in the same room he'd exited so abruptly some moments earlier), that they were standing in a comfortably-appointed drawing room with a roaring fire in the grate, and that the Apprentice was smiling benevolently at each of them in turn.

Rumple's eyes darted from August to Emma, realizing that for the three of them to have been pulled back now, the Apprentice surely must have been monitoring their conversation. Had either of those two known…?

But then Emma's hand tightened on his shoulder and the look on her face might have terrified him had he thought for one moment that the fury in her eyes was meant for him.

"You said—"

The Apprentice sighed. "I said that I would cast no spell to eavesdrop on your conversation. I did not." He looked away briefly. "When this mansion made the crossing, some of its magical defenses were converted to technological analogs. There are surveillance cameras at various locations. As well as microphones."

"And you didn't tell us," Emma snapped.

August placed a restraining hand on her forearm, but if his reaction was more measured it was no less furious. "You knew when you asked about eavesdropping spells that we wouldn't think about other methods."

The Apprentice inclined his head in acknowledgment. "There are times when it is necessary to understand the intent behind a decision. When the stakes are high enough, certain measures—never undertaken lightly—are warranted. My judgment has led to some egregious errors in the past. If my master cannot be relied upon to fix those errors this outing, I need to take steps to ensure that no fresh ones will be forthcoming. Even if the actions I take to avoid them prove to be errors of a less egregious nature."

Rumple sucked in his breath. "Who else overheard?" he demanded.

"Nobody," the Apprentice assured him. "Invasion of privacy is not something I sanction as a general rule. Though I deemed it necessary in this instance, I saw no purpose in further compounding the transgression."

"That still doesn't make it okay," Emma snapped.

"I agree," August said.

The Apprentice nodded. "As do I. But for me to consider releasing the current Dark One from his curse, I needed certain assurances."

Rumple's eyes narrowed. "But I told you…" He stopped. His eyes grew wide. And something that might almost have been the beginning of a smile twitched in the corner of one lip. "More misdirection?" he asked faintly.

"Hang on," August said, as the Apprentice nodded. "What?"

Rumple patted August's wrist briefly, but his focus was still on the old man. "Your answer to my earlier question wasn't quite as straightforward as I'd thought," he said.

"Very good."

"I'm lost," August admitted frankly.

Now Rumple did smile, albeit with more worry than warmth in it. "You heard him in the other room, Booth," he said. "Such magic as was granted to me when I became the Dark One…"

He turned back to the Apprentice. "An unrealized potential is still potential. And a peasant spinner of scant means or influence might never have the opportunity to even recognize that potential."

"An oversight not limited to peasants or spinners, whether they possess means or influence or no."

Rumple nodded. "I appear to have a… proclivity for not recognizing what I have until I've lost it. A failing that has persisted for quite some time, I think." The smile grew more pronounced if still hesitant. "So, then. I suppose the question has to be whether becoming the Dark One _gave_ me magic, or simply allowed me to unlock a talent I'd always possessed."

The Apprentice smiled. "That _is_ the question indeed."

Rumple waited for him to go on, but the old man continued to stand before him silently, still smiling. Finally, when the silence seemed to drag on past the point of a pause for effect, he asked the Apprentice with barely-veiled irritation, "Well, what's the answer?"

"That," the old man said, "is something we need to determine. If you're ready."

* * *

"Wait," David said after Emma had explained what they'd learned. "He wanted to hang on to evil to do something good?"

Emma nodded, glad that when she'd asked Gold if he was okay with her sharing his explanation he'd asked only that she do so when he wasn't present. She could understand how uncomfortable it might be to have a spotlight shining down when one had barely stepped out of the shadows and was still trying not to dart back. Since Gold was still in the other room and talking with the Apprentice, now was as good a time as any to fill the others in. "That's about the size of it," August confirmed.

Regina sighed heavily. "As admirable as that might sound, there's a problem with that line of reasoning," she said. "I think that by now, we've all read Henry's book. We know Rumple's history. Actually," she looked from August to Emma, "the two of you probably know even more, depending on what was edited out of the earlier edition. My point is, Rumple didn't decide to become the Dark One because he wanted to murder the Duke of the Frontlands' right-hand man." She frowned. "Or was that his son?"

"Both," August shrugged.

Regina nodded at his clarification and continued. "He didn't want to turn everyone who'd ever mocked him or snubbed him into a salamander, or… or… magic himself up enough wealth to finance a moderately-sized kingdom. He may have done most of that once he gained his power, but his motive in taking that power was something I don't think any of us would have taken issue with, had we been present to discuss matters with him centuries ago. Rumple wanted to save his son from being drafted into a war he was almost guaranteed not to survive. Totally understandable. In fact, I believe we'd all call that goal 'praiseworthy' without reservation. But surrendering to Darkness to achieve that end… changed him. I don't pretend that my own journey was identical. I've never been the Dark One, after all. But I do know that the more I used Darkness to get what I wanted, the more it changed _me_. I didn't go from shoving my mother through a looking glass to ripping my father's heart out and casting the Dark Curse overnight." She turned to Snow. "And as much as I hated you for telling my mother about Daniel and me, if I hadn't given Darkness a toehold, I don't think we ever would have gotten near the blood feud that later developed."

Snow nodded sadly.

"I want everyone to be clear," Regina said, looking from Emma to August. "I'm not saying that I doubt Rumple's explanation. Not after everything else he's been doing lately. As hard as it might have been to believe even a month or so ago, I don't think he's got any agenda beyond what he told you. But that doesn't mean that using Dark magic again, 'just that once' won't have an impact."

"I hear the logic," August said, "but I think you've left something out of the equation."

"Really?" Regina raised an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

"Us," Emma said, sounding surprised that the mayor had to ask. "We've… talked a bit about," she hesitated, trying to figure out how to phrase things in a manner that would convey some of Gold's issues without betraying things told to her in confidence. "...About some of what he's had to deal with," she said finally. "And one thing I think I've been getting is that Darkness isn't really Evil, exactly. It's more…" She looked at her mother. "Hopelessness. Despair. It's that voice that tells you that you can't come back from what you did, no matter what. And if you start believing that, then it gets—"

"Harder to see the point of trying," Regina nodded.

Snow looked at her aghast. "That time in the forest when you were in disguise, did I—?"

Regina sighed. "I'd just ordered a village massacred because you'd sheltered in it. I can't say I'd have acted any differently. Or that you should have." She hesitated. "Or that I wouldn't have reverted in the end, even if you had been willing to reconcile," she added a bit more softly. "Doing the right thing doesn't always lead to the results it ought to."

Snow's thoughts flashed on Johanna and she nodded her understanding.

"That being said, at the time," Regina went on, "I returned home secure in the knowledge that Darkness and vengeance were all I had left to me and I embraced them more fully than I ever had. Again, I don't hold you at fault for that. You had no reason to believe that I was ready to make a change. Not then. I'm not sure anyone did; that was the point. Once I believed I couldn't turn back, I thought I had no choice but to go on."

Emma nodded. "I think just... letting him know we've noticed his efforts has been going a long way with him."

Belle winced at that and Emma started to say something to her, but Regina interrupted.

"It's a good thought, but I'd be wary about going too far in the opposite direction. It… can start to turn condescending fairly quickly if we start praising him for… for not kicking a puppy or remembering to separate his recycling."

"Good point," August nodded.

"Here's the thing," Emma said. "He can't do this alone, but he's not used to asking for help. Or expecting to get it. Not without roping someone into a deal anyway. The more he thinks he has people he can count on, the less he thinks he has to depend on the Darkness to get what he needs. Which is probably a good thing, considering it's trying to kill him and take over," she added.

"Wait," David said. "If he knows the Darkness wants to kill him, why would he care about anything it has to offer?"

Emma sighed. Her parents might have fought ogres, trolls, and the odd power-mad monarch in their day, but they didn't seem to have a lot of experience wrestling their internal demons. If it came to that, neither did Emma—but she'd had plenty of external influences trying to knock her down and chip away at her self-esteem. She'd had those experiences to draw on in her current approach to Gold. Even if their pasts weren't close to identical, at least there was some kind of a common frame of reference. Her father didn't have that. Emma frowned, trying to find the words to frame an explanation that would make sense to him. "Archie's probably the person who can really explain that one," she began, "but speaking from experience, sometimes you… go with bad influences because they're the only ones who seem to give a damn about you. Even when you know they're just using you, at least it makes you feel needed. And when you don't believe you're especially… likeable? If you're convinced being useful is the best you can hope for, then you hope for that."

"You've got that right," August nodded and Emma felt some of her nervousness ease.

"But—" Belle stopped. She was doing it again. This _wasn't_ about her. What was the purpose in pointing out that she'd more than 'given a damn' about him and it hadn't seemed to stop him from deceiving and manipulating her?

_He always tried to show me his best self after we found each other again. He must have been afraid he'd lose me if he ever let that mask slip. And how can I even argue that point when I've been doing a fair job of proving it up until now?_

And she was still making this about her, when it needed to be about Rumple.

"But how do we show him that there's more for him than that?" she asked finally.

"I think we are showing him," Emma said. "I think that might be part of why he's finally been able to push back against the Darkness. But," she looked at her father seriously, "while I think it's okay to ask questions about why he's doing stuff, we shouldn't try guessing the answer at the same time. Give him a chance before you assume the worst."

"Or the best," August added. "Sometimes it's easier to live down to expectations than to live up to them." He winced. "Take it from someone who knows."

"You mean, if he thinks we expect him to be perfect, he might not try at all," Belle said slowly.

"Something like that."

Belle nodded. "Got it."

Hook cleared his throat. "I know you'll not believe me when I say I hate to bring this up, but speaking as a man who's devoted a fair portion of his life toward hunting the Dark One and knows quite a bit about his methods? I don't think it's that far a stretch to say he might be attempting to mislead us now, as he has so many other times in the past. I grant he seems sincere, but that isn't a new look for him." In a slightly lower tone of voice, he added, "and you must admit that his explanation gives him a perfect excuse to choose to remain the Dark One—and with our blessings."

Belle and Emma started to protest, but August shook his head. "It's a possibility," he admitted. "But I wouldn't go bringing it up to around him." He took another breath. "I don't think it's a shock to any of you that I've got something of a past reputation for dishonesty. And," he went on with a heavy sigh, just when I think I've finally convinced everyone I'm past it, someone gets suspicious all over again." He shifted uncomfortably in place. "And it doesn't help matters that, occasionally, I do stretch things a bit more than I ought to. I never said I was perfect. All I can say is try to give the benefit of the doubt where you can."

"Try to catch him being good," Snow interjected. When the others turned to her, she smiled. "It's something you learn in teachers' college. At least, according to my curse memories. That you find what you look for. And if you're looking to see who's misbehaving, you're going to find someone. If you're trying to see who's paying attention and trying to learn, well you'll find someone, too."

Belle flashed once more on that horrible night at the town line when she'd told Rumple that all she could see of him now was the monster and she forced herself to smile back and nod.

"That doesn't mean we have to ignore any danger signs if they jump out at us," August said, "but for the next little while, at least, maybe we can all try to remember that just like I used to get a pretty strong reminder every time I was less than honest… he knows that if he does any major—or even maybe not so major—backsliding, he's going to face some automatic consequences."

"I will admit that his instinct for self-preservation is probably the strongest thing he has going for him right now," Regina nodded.

"But would he tell us if things were taking a turn for the worse?" Killian asked.

Whale, silent until now, spoke up. "Leave that to me," he said. "We've got a guy with a heart condition who's just had an experimental procedure done in an attempt to prolong his life. I have to monitor him in any case. While I'm doing that, I can keep an eye on the size of that red patch on his heart." He shrugged. "One of you others would have to check the dagger, though."

Henry cleared his throat and Emma smiled. "Right. That's another indicator."

"What's this?" David asked.

Emma's eyes met Henry's. "You wanna tell them, kid, or should I?"

Henry grinned. "Mom, when Grandpa healed you in the hospital, I'm pretty sure he used Light magic."

"How sure?" Regina asked her expression intent. "Not that I don't trust you, Sweetheart," she added with a quick smile, "but if there's any doubt whatsoever, I think we need to be aware."

"Well," Henry said, "when Grandpa uses magic, it usually looks like smoke. Yours did too, Mom when… after the first curse broke. And so did Zelena's." He turned to Emma. "Yours has always looked more solid." He faced Regina again. "Like yours does now. Well… that's how his looked to me. And it was bright gold."

"Like what he spins?" David asked, with a slight smile. "Regina?"

Regina nodded slowly. "I've seen Dark magic achieve the same results as Light, though maybe not for the same price. But the same appearance?" She shook her head, but she was smiling now, too. "For the pirate's sake, I'll play devil's advocate for one moment and suggest that if there is _anyone_ capable of pulling that sort of illusion—a-a glamor spell _on_ a spell, as it were, the Dark One just might be able to do it. _But_ ," she continued before anyone could voice another protest, "knowing what we know about Rumple's condition at that time… I don't think he was in any shape to do more than he absolutely had to." She looked down for a moment. "And maybe not even to do what he did," she murmured. "Plus, if he meant to deceive us, I think he would have mentioned something about this before now to make sure we were aware…" Her voice trailed off. Then she took another breath. "No," she said decisively as she looked up again, her momentary discomfiture gone. "Without seeing for ourselves what Henry described, we can't be completely sure. But going by what he's just described and," she smiled at her son, "given his knack for seeing things most of us tend to overlook, I think that we should give him— _and_ Rumple—the benefit of the doubt for now."

Henry beamed back.

* * *

Rumple tried to pay careful attention to what the Apprentice was telling him. He didn't believe that the man would lie to him, but he'd already demonstrated a marked ability for cryptic speech—one Rumple could well appreciate. He found himself playing over what he was being told and asking himself what it might imply if it were _he_ who was stating it.

"Darkness has a way of seeking out those with the greatest potential for power," the Apprentice was saying. "Often, not always, that power is magical. It takes its host's gifts and twists them to its purpose. I've seen it happen with intellect, charisma, fighting prowess…"

Rumple snorted at that last bit. He'd only ever had 'fighting prowess' when he was using a bow that couldn't miss or a spell to temporarily make him a master swordsman. When he'd been called to the front in the Ogre War, he'd been given some instruction, enough to ensure that he would be a slightly greater threat to the enemy than to his fellow soldiers, but really, not much more than Hook's mocking guidance some four years later on the day he'd believed Milah had been kidnapped away.

 _"Never been in a duel before, I take it? Well, it's quite simple. The pointy end goes in the other guy…"_ No, somehow he doubted that the Darkness had pointed him out to Zoso on account of any 'fighting prowess'.

Intellect, on the other hand, was a possibility. Strangely enough, Rumple had never thought much about his. Peasants weren't encouraged to think about much beyond feeding their families, serving their lords, and paying their taxes. The lords preferred it that way: a peasant with time to ruminate on more than that was a peasant likelier to consider rebellion. No, most nobles believed in giving their laborers just enough schooling to sign their names to promissory notes and read their draft notices, and keeping them too busy to bother with anything higher. Power was coveted, whether it was acquired by virtue of intellect, strength, magic, wealth, birth, or influence. And his own intellect? Well, he'd always known he had a sharp mind, but—like virtually everything he'd had in his peasant village—it had seldom been valued—not even by himself. He hadn't seen that it did him much good. It only made him all the more cognizant of how miserable his life truly was.

After he'd become the Dark One, he'd still been feared—or sought—not for his intellect, but for his magic Yes, he'd used his brains in order to drive the hardest bargains, trick others into giving him what he wanted, whether they meant to or not and, most importantly, to find a way to reach Bae. But they had just been a tool to help him achieve his ends, like his spinning wheel or his walking staff. And those who spoke of his power seldom praised his mind. Rather they disparaged it with terms like 'devious,' 'sly,' or 'crafty'. Not that he'd really cared. They still came knocking on his castle door, caps in hand and hope in heart, ripe and ready for his manipulations. And if they could fawn upon him to his face and disparage him behind his back, then they deserved the bargains they struck and the payment he exacted.

He still woke up in a cold sweat when he dreamed of Zelena's hands stroking his forehead while he was powerless to pull away from her. Sometimes in the night, he still heard her mocking laughter and saw the gleam in her eyes when she talked about needing his 'beautiful brain'.

Just because _he_ hadn't thought about its worth, though, didn't mean the Darkness hadn't. But if it was his magical potential that drawn it in… He had to know.

"So, which was it in my case?" he demanded, trying not to let his irritation show.

The Apprentice regarded him sharply. "Why must it only be one?" He shook his head. "If you truly need to know the answer, you carry it within you, don't you?"

Rumple sucked in his breath. "You expect me to go within and ask it?" he exclaimed in shock.

The Apprentice shook his head. "I expect nothing. I'm only telling you that if you want to know the Darkness's motivation, you can listen to my suppositions, or you can go directly to the source." He paused for a beat. "If it's that important that you know the specifics, of course."

Rumple's eyes narrowed. Just what was the old man trying to tell him? "Would it be too much to request some time alone to meditate on that?" he asked somewhat testily.

The Apprentice smiled. "Just as you like. I believe the gallery you found earlier should afford you relative privacy. Or did you mean to return to your shop or another more familiar location?"

Just how extensive was the surveillance here? Rumple gritted his teeth. For all he knew, the Apprentice might be able to spy on the entire town. In which case, it made no difference whether Rumple stayed here or left. "The gallery will be fine," he said with icy politeness. "I trust you'll arrange I'm not disturbed?"

The Apprentice nodded. "Of course."

* * *

Roughly a half hour later, Rumple still didn't know what to do. He knew what the others wanted of him, of course. And after everything they'd done for him, everything he owed, there was a large part of him that wanted to comply. But if the use of magic came with a price, so did the surrender of magic. He'd told Nimuë that he'd never been 'nothing' and he knew that he'd spoken the truth in that moment. But without his magic, he also knew that the next time the others needed his help, there would be a good chance that he would be unable to provide it.

To be sure, they'd understand the reason. But at the same time, they'd be disappointed. Perhaps dismayed. More likely, though, they'd be angry and resentful, demanding to know why his seer-sight hadn't shown him whatever new crisis would loom and why he hadn't come up with some contingency. And even if they didn't, how long would they want him about when he wouldn't be in any sort of position to render assistance?

Without his magic, he would still have value, but so much less than what he had now.

He knew that if he tried to talk to the others about his concern, they'd be quick to reassure him. They'd probably even mean it. But when the next attack came, would they still be as understanding?

He wasn't sure he could take the risk.

Rumpelstiltskin leaned against the gallery wall and hugged himself. He didn't know what to do. He just didn't know what to do.

* * *

Henry was exploring the house. Well. In point of fact, he was looking for the bathroom. He'd thought he knew where it was from an earlier visit, but the door he'd opened had led instead to a storage closet. The next door had opened on a rather cramped sitting room—something that looked like the inside of a Victorian carriage he'd seen in an old movie. So now, he was opening doors as he came upon them, but none revealed what he wanted.

He blinked when he found himself at the foot of a staircase. He _knew_ that there was a bathroom on the ground floor and he should have found it by now. He debated backtracking to see whether he'd somehow missed a door, but curiosity and the sense that something else was going on here propelled him forward. He climbed the stair.

The doors on this level seemed to open mainly on bedrooms and sitting rooms. He'd opened a half-dozen when he sensed a presence behind him and turned to see his grandfather standing there watching.

"Looking for someone?" Rumple asked.

Henry shook his head. "I couldn't find the bathroom," he admitted with some embarrassment. "It can wait," he added. "I guess I just wanted to stretch my legs a little."

"Ah."

Henry frowned. "Are you okay?"

Not long ago, Rumple would have smiled and politely brushed off the boy's concern. Admitting that he wasn't meant admitting vulnerability. But this was his grandson, a youth who frequently demonstrated extraordinary perception. He was also, from what Rumple recalled, a young man with a marked dislike for being lied to. And he had also been the first person to welcome him back home, literally with open arms. Rumple considered for a moment. Then, staring at a fixed point on the wall, he said softly, "I believe I find myself a crossroad and I am attempting to determine the best path to take."

"You mean about Marco's parents?"

Rumple nodded slowly, trying to decide whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that he'd given Emma permission to make his explanations to the others.

Henry took a deep breath. "Grandpa, do you remember after you healed my mom in the hospital, I wanted to tell you something, but you were too tired to listen?"

Rumple blinked. He thought he recalled something like that, but now was hardly the time for… Clearly, whatever it was Henry had wanted to say, it was important enough for him to make this further attempt days later. "Forgive me," he said. "I'm afraid I've had a good deal on my mind since then. What was it you wished to relate?"

Henry hesitated. "I'm not positive," he admitted. "I should've caught it on video, but I didn't think about it at the time. But when you healed her, I think…"

As Henry continued, Gold's eyes widened. If he hadn't been using Dark magic, then—

He gripped his grandson's forearm with one hand and dug his cane into the hall carpet with the other. "Come with me," he said. Then he realized that he wasn't certain where the Apprentice had gotten to. Off in some security office spying on everyone via the cameras, no doubt. He swiveled his head from left to right.

"You can show yourself," he said with quiet authority. "I've made my decision."

"Grandpa?" Henry asked nervously. "Who're you talking to?"

"He was addressing me," a voice spoke from behind, startling both man and youth. The two turned to see the Apprentice standing several paces away, a worried expression on his face.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. "There you are," he said. "I imagine you'll be delighted to know that I've decided to take you up on your proposal to cleave the Darkness from me, after all."

The Apprentice's worry shifted to dismay. "I'm afraid," he said slowly, "that I'm going to have to take that offer off the table. I'm sorry."


	52. Chapter Fifty-Two

**Chapter Fifty-Two**

Before Rumple could reply, a furious thirteen-year-old stepped in front of him and glared at the Apprentice. "That's not fair!" he snapped.

The Apprentice looked down at him, his expression unreadable. "It has nothing to do with fairness. There are conditions that have not been met—"

Henry cut him off. "I don't care about your stupid conditions. If you know anything about what he had to go through before he found the hat, then you know it wasn't fair to throw that test at him without telling him it was coming." He glared at the old man. "When I get a pop quiz in school, it counts for maximum ten percent of my grade, not the whole thing. You can't just—"

"Henry," Rumple murmured, feeling a rather bizarre mixture of love, pride, and embarrassment. "I… don't believe that's the reason for his change of heart."

Henry blinked. "But—"

Gold regarded the Apprentice with a penetrating stare. "Is it?" he asked.

The Apprentice shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he rumbled.

"But…" Henry said again. Then he took in the look on his grandfather's face and his shoulders slumped. "Sorry," he muttered.

The Apprentice smiled then. "No need to apologize for seeing the truth," he said. "The test _was_ unfair, given the circumstances." He turned to Rumple.

"You were meant to find the hat when you were in a better frame of mind. One where there was a near-certain probability that you would have passed the trial successfully. It seems that you stumbled upon it either too late… or too soon."

And Belle had been so happy to have discovered the mansion, Rumple reflected. So sure that it was meant to serve as a perfect romantic getaway. She couldn't have guessed why it was really there. He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them again, he'd managed to bury his pain deeply enough that it didn't show on his face. "Go on," he said quietly. "I gather that you've gleaned some new information since you asked me for my decision in the library?"

The Apprentice's expression turned solemn. "When my master set up the means by which the hat could release the Dark One from the dagger, he never anticipated how long it would take for a Dark One to turn his back on the power that had been granted him. Or her," he amended. "I don't believe my master suspected how many hosts the Darkness would feed upon, nor how its power would swell through the centuries."

Rumple took an involuntary step backwards and slumped against the wood-paneled wall. He couldn't say that he was surprised. He'd had his suspicions. Still, having them confirmed hit him almost like a physical blow. "It's grown too great for the hat to contain, is that it?" he managed.

"I'm afraid so," the Apprentice nodded. "I'd hoped otherwise. I've been rechecking the formulas while you've been weighing your options. I might be able to cleave the Darkness from you, but doing so will only release it to find a new host on whom to feed."

Rumple let the old man's words sink in. Then he nodded. "Well," he said miserably, "I suppose that's that, then. I'd best tell the others."

"No," the Apprentice said. "That task devolves on me. Would you care to be present when I fulfill it?"

Rumple nodded again. "I think that's probably best. If there are questions raised, some of them may be directed against me."

He reached out a hand to his grandson. "Henry?"

The Apprentice cleared his throat. "The room you were looking for earlier," he said, "is back where it's supposed to be. Should you still require it." He smiled apologetically. "I thought the two of you needed a chance to talk."

"Even though his observation has been rendered moot by your discovery?"

The Apprentice's smile broadened. "I never said that," he replied. "Only that the hat is no longer a viable solution to your dilemma. Might I suggest that jumping to conclusions is often an unprofitable exercise?" Gray eyes bored into brown. "Your story is far from over."

Rumple blinked. "I'm not sure how I'm meant to respond to that," he admitted.

"For now, perhaps it would be best you didn't," the Apprentice rejoined. He gestured toward the top of the staircase. "Shall we?"

* * *

The others were silent as the Apprentice relayed his findings, but the looks they shot Rumple were far less suspicious than they'd been when last he'd stepped foot in the library.

"So, that's it, then?" Belle started up from her chair angrily. "One more chance dashed?"

The Apprentice nodded sadly. "I fear so." He turned to Rumple. "If you're able to continue along the path you've started, it may be that the Darkness within you will weaken further and the attempt will succeed at some later time. But as matters stand now—"

"But he wielded Light magic!" August snapped.

Rumple shot Henry a look. The youth shrugged. "You didn't want to listen. I had to tell someone."

"I'm not disputing that," the Apprentice rumbled. "But I fear that the effort, though laudable, is insufficient at this time.

"Wait," Emma said. "I think there's another way." She turned to Belle. "That book you were showing us before, about how the hat was supposed to work…"

"I know," Belle said, "but—" Her eyes grew wide. "You aren't thinking of…?"

"Damn right I am," Emma replied. She looked at the Apprentice. "Let's say that Nimuë's plan had worked and she'd trapped enough Light magic in the hat to break the tether tying her to the dagger. What would have happened to those people—the ones stuck in there—after she'd cast her spell?"

The Apprentice's brow furrowed. "I can't say for certain," he admitted. "It's theoretical. And you understand that my master never envisioned her hypothesis when he created the hat, so you can't fall back on the security that there are some lines Good wouldn't cross."

"Fine," Emma snapped. "I'm sure _somebody's_ got some theories, don't they?"

The Apprentice nodded. "My master and I did spend some time discussing the matter. Understanding that we can't be sure to have foreseen every outcome…"

"Go on," Emma prompted.

The Apprentice took a breath and gripped the edge of the table with both hands. "It's possible," he began, "that, just as has already transpired, those absorbed into the hat would remain there until someone saw fit to free them. As for their magic, well, it's possible that the hat would siphon that away permanently. And if they are creatures _of_ magic, such as fairies, it is likely that they would not survive that process." He shook his head. "However, we cannot discount the possibility that the experience would prove fatal to _all_ trapped within, creatures of magic or no."

Emma nodded, clearly not liking what she was hearing, but not giving up either. "Could the hat absorb Light magic without absorbing the caster?"

Rumple gawped at her. Of all the surprising things she'd already suggested, he'd never dreamed that—

"Emma!" Snow exclaimed. "You… aren't considering—"

Emma looked from her mother to the Apprentice. "As I understand it, you were going to use the hat to absorb his Darkness without sucking him in along with it. So, what happens if, at the same time that the hat is getting stuffed with Darkness, I'm feeding it some of my Light for balance?"

The Apprentice's eyebrows shot up. "It would be risky," he said slowly. "Very risky."

Something about his tone made her inquire hopefully, "But…?"

The seconds stretched by as the Apprentice regarded her, and then each of the others in turn. Then, just when Emma was nearly uncomfortable enough to try changing the subject, he said, "Were you any other soul, I'd never consider it. Virtually every user of magic contains within their power the seeds for both Light and Darkness. Both would be absorbed by the hat. And given the sheer volume of Darkness the hat would already be called upon to take in, any addition, no matter how small, might tip the balance dangerously against the Light."

Emma's eyes widened as her eyes darted from the Apprentice to her parents. "But I don't have any Darkness in my power," she said. "You made sure of that before I was born."

"Correct."

"So then, I can do it," she said.

The Apprentice stroked his beard. "Perhaps," he said finally, "but what you're proposing is perilous. Recall that the Darkness is a living thing. And that it has no intention of being forced into the hat. At least, not without cost."

"Meaning?" David asked.

"I expect," the Apprentice replied, "that it will resist all attempts to separate it from its host. This resistance will require great effort to countermand. Perhaps, too great." He looked to Emma. "It could, conceivably, require everything you have."

Rumple turned to her, wide-eyed. "Emma…" he said, almost in a whisper, "No."

"I concur," David said. "You can't—"

"Actually," Emma said, "based on what I just heard, I might be the only one who _can_."

"Based on what we just heard, it could kill you!" Snow exclaimed.

"But it's also our best chance," Emma countered. She turned to Rumple. " _Your_ best chance." She gave the Apprentice a challenging look. "Isn't it?" she demanded.

The Apprentice hesitated. "Well," he allowed, "the fact that the Dark One has already completed most of the necessary preliminaries will help."

Rumple blinked. "Pardon?"

"I believe you have in your possession the tear of one who turned away from the Darkness in their heart?"

Rumple gaped at him and nodded mutely.

"Is that why you…?" Killian half started up from the table.

"It would appear so," Rumple murmured. Mentally, he was reviewing all of the other steps he'd taken to prepare the hat on the other occasions and he was astounded to realize that, understanding that the process laid out by Merlin had always been intended to force the caster to seek within rather than without, he _had_ met nearly all the criteria without knowing it. Nearly. "Th-the heart," he stammered. "Crushing the heart of someone who knew me before I was... I never..." He frowned. "Or was that something Merlin fabricated entirely?"

"Not entirely," the Apprentice smiled. "And had you not succeeded on that score, I can assure you that I wouldn't be extending myself for you now."

Rumple's eyes narrowed. "But I don't see how…"

"How Light could ask you to crush the heart of one who knew you before you became the Dark One?" The Apprentice smiled. "One who knew you when you were powerless and desperate for the aid that that they were all too willing to provide? For a cost you didn't fully understand?"

Rumple was sure he was gaping like a codfish now and he didn't know if there was any blood left at all in his face. It had been an internal struggle all along, though not entirely so. He'd believed that Hook had been the key to his freedom, when all along, it had been one more thing he hadn't realized he'd held with him all along.

Who had known him before he became the Dark One?

_The Dark Ones who had come before him._

"When I rejected Nimuë…" he whispered.

"Nearly correct," the Apprentice nodded. "Your rejection surprised her. Shocked her even. But to crush someone's heart is to take from them everything they hold dear and destroy it."

"But I never…" Rumple's voice trailed off and he looked at the Apprentice with a blend of confusion and dawning comprehension.

"Nimuë was the first host the Darkness ever claimed. She told herself that permitting it to reside within her was the best decision she'd ever made. That without its gifts…"

"…She was nothing," Rumple breathed.

"Since then," the Apprentice nodded, "she—and her successors—have sought out others who were… shall we say, desperate and downtrodden. Uh… no offense intended," he added. Rumple waved for him to continue with a slight air of impatience. "Others who believed, well, that they were nothing without the Darkness's offerings. Occasionally, there have been a few who resisted her offers, those with whom she miscalculated, but those spurned her utterly. Such individuals may have disappointed her, but disappointment has never deterred her from furthering her aims." He favored Rumple with a penetrating look.

"You, however, rejected not only her offer, but the mindset that spawned it. You destroyed the illusion she had crafted so cunningly lo these many years, and forced her to recognize a truth she couldn't bear to face."

_I was never nothing_ , he'd said. But he hadn't stopped there. In the very instant that he'd rejected her argument, he'd seen the pain _and_ the fear—so much like his own—concealed behind the cold armor and mottled mask. And even as he'd renounced her, he'd tried to offer her some empathy, even comfort... just a reassurance that might give her a modicum of peace beyond the grave. _And neither were you_. "And that…" he began slowly.

"…Crushed her heart along with her illusion." The Apprentice smiled. "In case you still need to hear it, 'Well done'." His smile faded as he turned back to Emma.

"Unfortunately, as much as the Darkness has been… hurt, it is still powerful. Perhaps too powerful for you to do what you propose. Your idea is a good one, savior, but carrying it out may well require _everything_ you have."

"Swan," Killian said urgently, "I don't believe he's only referring to your magic."

"He's not," Rumple said, a look of horror banishing the smile that had just begun to form on his face. "Emma… you mustn't."

"At least," Regina interrupted, "not alone."

* * *

Her voice was steady. She was actually rather proud of that. And with her hands beneath the council table, nobody could see them sweat. Particularly not when they rested in the lap of her dark pantsuit. She wondered idly whether Fate was enjoying the spectacle right now. Not that it mattered.

The Apprentice regarded her solemnly. "If I understand the offer you're making, I'm sure you're aware of the inherent problem."

"If I were pouring my power directly into the hat, yes," Regina said, relying on all her mother's lessons in poise and deportment to hide her nervousness. "But what if I pour it into the savior instead, replenishing what she loses? Her magic can fuel the hat. Mine can fuel _her_."

"Regina…" Emma started.

The formerly evil queen gave her a matter-of-fact smile. "It wasn't much more than a year ago that you bolstered my magic when I needed it. It's my turn to return the favor." She sighed. "Besides, there are a lot of hearts in my vault. If I have to fall back on the original plan of finding a compatible one for Rumple, it could take several months to narrow it down. And that's assuming no new crisis looms to distract me from _that_ project."

"I don't think we can afford to make that assumption," August said grimly.

"Agreed." Regina turned to the Apprentice. "Well?"

The old man didn't answer right away. Finally, he nodded. "There are still risks," he said. "Significant ones. But not as great as they would be without your involvement. I want to be clear," he said, looking from Rumple to Emma to Regina. "This must be something you all want. If there is any reluctance on anyone's part, the Darkness's resistance will be strengthened. This must be a whole-hearted endeavor." Then, focusing on Rumple, his lips twitched. "Well. Figuratively speaking, at any rate."

"I'm in," Emma said immediately.

"As am I," Regina nodded.

Rumple regarded the Apprentice nervously. "You're certain I'll be able to perform magic after this?"

The Apprentice shook his head. "Almost nothing in life is certain. But one thing is: if you had no inherent potential for magic without the Darkness, then even the tiniest Light working would have been beyond you. That does not appear to be the case. You may find yourself having to expend effort for that which was always effortless, but," his smile was gentle, "I don't imagine you and hard work have ever been strangers."

"If you can get past your embarrassment at having to relearn the basics," Regina added, "it's been my experience that the rest comes back a bit more easily."

He'd almost forgotten about that. Regina had experienced significant difficulties with her magic in the wake of the first curse's breaking. He swallowed. "There's really no alternative," he murmured. "That which has _been_ my life is now poised to _take_ my life. I may not be completely reconciled to the possibility of losing my magic, but I can assure you that I wholeheartedly desire to live. I just…"

Emma nodded. "I get it," she murmured. "We'll help you through this." She looked around the room, almost challenging anyone to gainsay her words. "Won't we, guys?"

Rumple saw nods and heard murmurs of agreement from everyone seated at the table. Even the pirate had ducked his head quickly. And Belle and August had spoken their affirmatives in tones rather louder than murmurs. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and let it out. And when he opened his eyes again, they shone with a clear resolve. "All right."

The Apprentice smiled with satisfaction. "We'll meet atop the clock tower a half hour before midnight, then," he said. "And there, we shall do what must be done."

* * *

"I… uh… just came to make sure I hadn't left anything behind," Belle murmured when she entered the convent library and Tink flashed her a welcoming smile.

"So, that's it, then?" the fairy asked. "You're all done here?"

Belle nodded. "I think so. Now that we know more about the hat, and the Apprentice is going to help Rumple, and… and…" She sucked in her breath and closed her eyes, willing herself not to break down.

"Belle?"

Her shoulders slumped. "I'll be all right," she managed. "And I think he will be, too. But we… I…" She took a deep breath and then another. Then she swiped at her eyes and was relieved when no new tears threatened to spill out. "At this point, I don't know what's going to be with us," she said finally.

"With time—" Tink began sympathetically.

Belle shook her head. "I don't know about that anymore. I think," she took a deep breath. "I think that time _might_ have been the answer, if not for something I only just realized a short time ago, when I thought—" She sucked in her breath again and fought for control, barely noticing when Tink pulled a chair away from the nearby table and guided her into it. "Thank you," she murmured.

Tink hesitated. "Do you want to talk?" she asked. "Or would you rather I just went about my business? Sometimes I can miss the signals," she added.

Belle debated with herself for a moment. Really, this shouldn't be any more difficult than that speech she'd made publicly at the town line. If anything, it should be easier; Tink was only one person and far less-judgmental than most.

Which meant that if Tink condemned her now, it would be so much worse. But, Belle reflected, probably not worse than keeping everything locked inside.

"I-I don't know," she admitted. "I guess it ties in with… Well." She looked up nervously. "How much do you know about what happened at the town line the day Rumple and Emma went after Regina?"

Tink hesitated. "I try to make a distinction between things I've heard others say and things I _know_ , so let's just say I've heard a few things, but I'm not quite certain that they add up to the whole story. Or that all of them can be believed. So, if you'd like to start from the beginning, I'll put aside any preconceptions and listen with fresh ears."

Belle smiled nervously. "Thank you. I," she hesitated. "I… guess I've been learning a few things about myself lately. Or admitting them. And sometimes, they aren't… aren't…" She half-hoped the fairy would fill in the blank, but Tink just sat there, smiling encouragement. When it was clear that no help was forthcoming on that front, Belle slumped in her chair and finished, "…easy to face."

Tink nodded. "I hear that," she murmured. "I suppose they're not easy to speak out loud either."

Belle shook her head. "No. Wh-what _have_ you heard?"

Tink considered. "That you love your husband and were ready to follow him into the outside world if you had to," she said.

Belle sighed heavily. "If that was all it was, I wouldn't have a problem saying it," she said with a bitter laugh.

"There's more, then," Tink nodded as though she'd expected there to be.

Belle took a deep breath and looked away. "I… I've come to realize that I… that I have a," she sucked in a breath and let it out with a noisy sigh. "A dark side," she forced the words out. She looked back at Tink, who didn't seem at all shocked by her confession.

"Well, if you didn't," Tink grinned, "I'd have to wonder at how you came to fall in love with your husband in the first place. As much as opposites attract, there has to be _some_ common ground."

Instead of smiling back, Belle buried her face in her hands. "That's the problem," she managed. "I-I don't know if there can be now. You see…"

* * *

"So, uh…" Henry panted a bit as he hurried to keep up with the old man, "what do you need me to do?"

The Apprentice took the staircase at a clip but waited at the top. "I've a need to take an inventory," he murmured. And I fear my memory isn't what it once was. Or, perhaps, my time in the hat has obscured some of it. I think some assistance might be warranted. If it's no imposition?" he added with a friendly smile.

Henry grinned back. "I don't mind," he said as he pulled out his phone. "Okay. Where do we start?"

The Apprentice shook his head. "If you mean for me to send my instructions to you via that device," he murmured, "unfortunately, that's a tool I've yet to acquire. I trust you're not averse to using such archaic tools as pen and paper?"

Henry re-pocketed his phone with a sheepish smile. "No, but my handwriting's pretty bad," he confessed.

The Apprentice was already moving down the corridor. "It's of no moment," he rejoined. "Come." He pulled open a door to reveal a dark-paneled study. "I believe you'll find what you need in the desk," he remarked.

Henry pulled open the drawer and saw that there were, indeed, a pad of thick paper sheets—the kind he'd used for watercolor painting in summer camp arts and crafts—and a number of pens. He pulled one out and tested it on the inside cover of the pad.

"That one's meant to be dipped in ink," the Apprentice said, drawing nearer. "Is there a pot in the drawer?"

"A pot?" Henry repeated blankly. "Oh. You mean this jar?" He held up the squat glass bottle with a frown. "There's not a lot here," he said. "Maybe I should just pick another pen?"

"No," the Apprentice said with an easy smile. "A choice has already been made. In my experience, one's first instinct is often one's best. Besides," he added, "if the ink runs out, you can always make another selection then."

Henry smiled back uncertainly. "Uh… okay," he said, unable to shake the feeling that something more important than it looked was happening here, but unable to pinpoint what. "Let's get started."

* * *

"…I feel like such a-a… I don't even know what," Belle concluded. "But I've spent so long trying to get him to shed the side of him that I've just recently come to realize was what attracted me. And now that he's on the verge of it…" she shook her head. "Should I be happy we aren't together, since it looks like if he does the right thing I won't…? I mean… What if he decides to give me another chance and, once he's no longer the Dark One, I don't want him after all? And if I want him to be Dark… what does that say about me?"

"I think," Tink said slowly, "that the fact that you're even asking these sorts of questions says more about you than you know. Most of it good," she added with a smile which only broadened when Belle blinked in confusion. "Really," she confirmed with a smile. "Do you know how many people out there never really think about what it is they want in their lover? Too many just… concoct some ideal nobody can aspire to and then blame the person they're with for falling short."

Belle flinched at that and Tink's smile waned slightly. Still, her voice was warm and cheerful as she went on. "Belle, too many people never get past that first hurdle. Never even recognize how confusing it can be. Just your being aware gives you a better chance than most."

At the disbelieving look on Belle's face, Tink sighed. "I take it you missed the part where the Apprentice said that almost everyone has a bit of Darkness and Light intermingled. The hat is going to remove the Dark One. But the inner Darkness Rumpelstiltskin always had? For better or worse, that won't be touched."

Belle winced. "I don't know if I'm meant to rejoice in that."

"Well," Tink rejoined, "the fact that you're debating it speaks volumes about your own inner Darkness. And I wouldn't be so quick to reject it. I mean," she hurried on, "of course you mustn't give it free reign. It needs to be curbed—and it sounds to me like you already have some experience with hat. But if you seek to expunge it?" Tink regarded her for a long moment, her face unreadable. "I think it can bring you to a point where you get so… blinkered by your own goodness that you start… making decisions that you rationalize as being for a greater good, all the while not realizing that you're becoming the very thing you're trying to safeguard against."

"You mean, what Blue did."

"It's not only Blue," Tink said gently.

Belle flinched. "Me," she said in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper.

Tink's eyebrows shot up. "I was actually thinking about Snow and David rationalizing kidnapping Maleficent's child, but if you see yourself in what I said, then perhaps that's fair, too. At any rate," she continued briskly, "I may be in the minority with this notion, but I think retaining a little bit of Darkness can give you the frame of reference that might help you understand why someone else is making the decisions they're making and let you keep a bit of empathy for them." She sighed. "I suppose I've spent the last few days trying to figure out how Blue could have done… well, so much of what she did and not realize the harm it caused. And I think that it may stem from a disconnect. She sees Good so clearly that she can't always understand why someone makes wrong choices."

Seeing Belle frown, she tried another tack. "If you have a choice of turning left or right, and to the left is a smooth path and to the right is a narrow unstable bridge with half the boards missing and the other half rotting, I'd say it's fairly obvious which path is the best one to take. That's how Blue sees the choice between Light and Dark. If she then watches someone start across that unstable bridge, she may try pulling them back the first time, or-or pulling out the splinters and offering them a towel after they've tumbled from it. But she still can't quite grasp why they'd want to cross it in the first place and after a certain point, she'll just… throw up her hands and say there's nothing else she can do with someone so bent on their own destruction." Tink's eyes were clear as they locked on Belle's. "On a personal note," she added, "I guess certain recent developments have given me a bit more perspective on my own run-ins with her. But," she smiled, her sunny humor returning, "that's a story for another time. The point I want to make is that I think a small, _managed_ bit of Darkness can give a person a little empathy to help them appreciate the challenges another person might be struggling with. Without that empathy, I think there's a much greater possibility of sliding into self-righteousness. If you ask me, that might even be worse."

"Really?" Belle murmured.

"Well, yes. Someone committing a Dark act—a truly Dark act, mind; not just an error—knows it's a Dark act. They may find ways to rationalize it, but they know the truth deep down. Self-righteousness, on the other hand? Much harder to see the error of one's ways if one's started a descent down _that_ slope." Tink smiled. "Which is exactly what makes your introspection so encouraging. And what gives me hope that you and your husband can yet patch things up between you."

"I don't quite see…" Belle's voice trailed off.

"You're both trying to atone for bad decisions," Tink explained with a tiny laugh. "Maybe they sprang from opposite ends of the continuum, but the end results are the same: people got hurt and it's not so easy to make things right again. But you're both trying. You're both learning. And maybe the two of you will never stand in exactly the same place on that continuum. But I think you'll end up far closer than either of you might have believed not so long ago. And maybe this time?" Tink smiled warmly, "that notion won't frighten you quite so much as it used to."

"It never _frightened_ me," Belle protested.

Tink regarded her silently.

"It didn't," the young woman insisted. "I only… I mean…" She hadn't supported Rumple nearly as much as she could have, because she'd worried about what other people would think. She'd ruthlessly suppressed her own darker yearnings out of fear that accepting them would set gossips' tongues to wagging and, perhaps, have her overlooking her husband's tendencies. When she'd banished him from Storybrooke, she'd been hurt and angry.

And she'd also been afraid of what she'd nearly allowed to happen, so sure that her love had blinded her to the truth. Maybe it had been fear doing the blinding instead.

Belle buried her face in her hands and exhaled with a shudder.

Tink patted her shoulder.

* * *

Rumple looked up as the bell over the shop door jangled. His shoulders tensed and he felt his heart sink when he saw who'd walked in. But he squared his shoulders, affected a smile, and greeted the newcomer with a subdued, "Good afternoon, Marco."

The handyman approached the counter, his expression unreadable. His eyes swept the walls, darting over shelves and glass-enclosed displays. Finally, they locked on Rumple's. And still the silence stretched.

Rumple shifted uncomfortably. "I… imagine I can guess who it is you're looking for," he murmured.

Marco wiped his hands on his trousers. "You haven't _sold_ …?" His voice trailed off.

"No," Rumple said quickly, snapping back to himself. "No, of course not. In fact, I removed them to the back room when I thought… Well. I suppose it doesn't matter what I thought. I can fetch them out."

"Please."

Rumple nodded and retreated through the curtained doorway. He'd been dreading this meeting for some time and he supposed it was a sort of relief to get it over with. He retrieved the two puppets from the chest and carried them back to the shop floor with the care he'd normally have reserved for fine crystal—or perhaps, even a chipped china cup. "Here they are," he managed, setting them gently down on the counter.

Marco nodded. "You know," he said slowly, "I must have seen them in here a hundred times when I came in to do your repairs. I never realized," one hand moved to stroke a voile overskirt. "This is what they were wearing the last morning I saw them." His voice broke. "I suppose I got so used to seeing them on your wall during the curse that even after it broke and I remembered everything, I didn't quite recognize…" He swept the two dolls up in his arms. "Mama," he whispered. "Papa."

Rumple turned away and pretended to busy himself with polishing some of the knickknacks on the shelves behind the counter. He imagined that he could feel the handyman's eyes boring into his back. When he finally dared to turn back around again, though, he saw that Marco was still embracing the marionettes.

Rumple let out a heavy sigh. "I know it's cold comfort," he murmured, "but I _am_ sorry." He pressed his lips together and braced himself for whatever came next.

He was shocked to feel a hand press tentatively on his sleeve and he looked up to see Marco shaking his head, a tired smile on his face.

"You didn't mean it for them," he said. "Nobody did." He sucked in a breath and released it. "When Jiminy told me what had happened, I was this close," he took his hand off of Rumple's sleeve and held his thumb and index finger less than a half inch apart, "to crushing him with a fly whisk." Beneath the smile, there was a bitter note in his voice. "I was alone. I was frightened. And, while it might have been his parents who slipped mine your potion, he was the one who'd brought it. I think," he said slowly, "it took me about a week before I decided I wasn't going to step on him. Another two before I started talking to him. Forgiveness came later."

"Is there a reason you're telling me this?" Rumple ventured to ask.

Marco's hand was back on his sleeve. "For a long time," he said, "I wasn't sure who I should blame for what happened. Jiminy? He meant the draught for _his_ parents, not mine. They made the switch. His parents? They didn't know what it would do. And what good would it do to blame them when they'd moved on and I had no hope of finding them then? Now, once I grew up, I asked after them when I went to show my craft at the district fairs." He shook his head. "Foolish, really. Even had I found them, I wasn't going to waylay them in some alleyway or summon the law on them for what they did. Where was my proof? But I finally learned that I'd missed my opportunity to confront them. Several years earlier, they'd been caught trying to steal a horse after the one they had went lame. I suppose you're familiar with the penalties for that?"

_Hanging for the ringleader. Loss of a hand for any accomplice._ Rumple nodded. "I am. Both of them?"

"They hanged his father. His mother got the lighter penalty, but you know that medicine wasn't the same there as here. And healers don't work free. The man who told me the tale said that she had no money for the high price the prison healers charged and by the time she scraped together enough to pay another, the infection was too severe to treat. It was easier for me to accept that I'd never be able to confront those two than it was to break the news to Jiminy." He shook his head. "But I think he took it better than I did. So."

The handyman sighed again. "I spent too many years looking for someone to hold accountable. Jiminy. His parents. You. Me."

"You?" Rumple repeated in disbelief.

Marco nodded. "They'd told me to be home in time for supper. Instead, I lingered in the marketplace, hoping to snag some sweets or pastries at a lower price if I was there when the bakers and candy mongers were packing up for the day. Or do some light work for coin. I returned home that night with three copper in my pocket, a belly full of sweets and pastries and no appetite for the bread and broth I knew Mama was serving for dinner." He shook his head sadly. "If I'd known it would be the last time she'd—well. Enough of that. For years, I believed that if I'd been home when I was supposed to, I would have seen Jiminy's parents switch the potion for their 'elf tonic'. I could have saved my parents from drinking it."

"You don't know that," Rumple murmured.

"I did then," Marco replied. "But I'm a bit older now. And maybe, I've come to recognize a few things I didn't see at the time. What happened to my parents was a tragedy they didn't deserve. It shouldn't have happened."

Rumple nodded, wondering why Marco still hadn't released his sleeve.

"When I was younger, I used to talk to them constantly, tell them that one day, I was going to hunt down everyone responsible and make them pay."

Despite himself, Rumple felt his shoulders tense. If the handyman had come here bent on vengeance, if he was about to pull out a pistol, or even a knife, Rumple wasn't sure what he'd do.

"But," Marco wasn't finished talking, "no matter how much I wanted to imagine their end of the conversation going in a way that would encourage that dream, I think that deep down, I always knew what they'd tell me if they could. They'd say that they wanted me to let go. To live my life. To raise a family. To remember them, of course. But not to let that memory consume me. Not for me to dedicate my life to avenging theirs." His hand tightened on Rumple's sleeve.

"You didn't mean for this to happen. I know that. Yes, if you hadn't given Jiminy the potion… if Jiminy's parents hadn't made the exchange… If Jiminy had watched more carefully… if I'd been home on time…" Marco's voice broke and, despite himself, Rumple realized that his own eyes were watering and he looked away hastily.

"What I'm saying to you," Marco continued, "is that no one person is to blame for what happened. And you're less… culpable… than some of the others involved." He paused for a beat. "Others I forgave a long time ago." He smiled when Rumple met his eyes incredulously once more.

"August told me why you can't remove the spell now," he said quietly. "I understand. I suppose… I could have come to you any time after the curse broke to ask you to do it. I don't know why I didn't. Jiminy told me that he almost did, but in the end he…"

"He didn't want to face me," Rumple guessed.

Marco closed his eyes and nodded.

"I can hardly fault him," Rumple admitted. "Doubtless he's counted himself fortunate to have emerged from his dealings with me, more or less unscathed." Which, ironically, was more than could be said for his dealings with the Blue Fairy.

Marco nodded again.

"If I'm able to at some point in the future," Rumple said, "you've my word that—"

"I didn't come here to take you to task for it," Marco cut him off and Rumple blinked, realizing that, far from being angry at him, since Marco's entrance, the handyman had been almost… gentle.

"Then why did you?" Rumple asked.

Marco sighed. "First, I was hoping that, now that I know who they are, I might be able to bring them home with me?"

That much was easy enough. Rumple nodded at once. "Of course, of course. I-I could give you a box if you'd prefer to do so discreetly. What else?"

"You… never told my boy when you were planning on coming 'round for dinner."

Rumple willed his jaw not to gape open. "I'd thought…" he murmured.

"He told me what you did for him," Marco said. "I'm not a stupid man. I know who you were back in our land. Some of what you did. I probably don't want to know the rest. It's not for me to say whether the way you're acting now, the changes you're trying to make today, can balance those scales. But if I can't ignore what you did then, I also can't ignore what you're doing now. And the past… can't be changed." He shook his head. "The way I see it, you may be part of the reason I lost my parents, but you're also part of the reason I still have my son. And after you helped him to… face his past, well. The least I can do is have you over for supper."

Rumple blinked. "That's why you extended the invitation?"

"One of the reasons, yes. As far as the others… I think I've seen what I needed to." His eyes turned serious. "But if you hurt my boy," he continued still smiling pleasantly, "I'll come for you with something worse than a fly whisk."

"I-I'll keep that in mind," Rumple answered with a tentative smile of his own.

"Good. I'll expect you Wednesday at six."

Rumple ducked his head once, still smiling dazedly. He watched as Marco scooped up the marionettes gently and headed out of the shop. It wasn't until he heard the motor of the handyman's truck start up outside that he went back to polishing the knickknacks, still feeling somewhat befuddled as he rehashed what had just transpired.

* * *

Henry didn't know why the Apprentice needed him to write down so much. He'd already inventoried half the books in the upstairs study, copying the titles painstakingly and trying not to smear the ink on his hand. He was growing tired and bored and trying not to let his irritation show.

How long had he been at this anyway?

His stomach growled, letting him know that he'd missed his usual afternoon snack. He sighed. The Apprentice was nowhere about, so Henry couldn't ask him if he could take a break and duck out to Granny's—or even Mr. Clark's; he'd have settled for a chocolate bar right about now.

His eyes skimmed the next shelf. _The Life and Letters of Silenus, Nymphs and Their Ways…_ He dutifully wrote down the titles and their location on the shelf. He frowned. The next volume didn't seem to belong there. "No way," he breathed, pulling out _The Unofficial Harry Potter Cookbook: From Cauldron Cakes to Knickerbocker Glory_. He had to show this to his mother. He leafed through the pages and groaned when he came to the recipe for Knickerbocker glory. Terrific. Ice cream and Jell-O and custard and chocolate syrup… He felt his mouth water. He was starving and it sounded so good!

He picked up the notebook again and looked at the page. It was divided into two columns, one headed "item" and the other, "location".

Afterwards, Henry was never completely sure what came over him. He knew he was being silly. But he also knew that he was hungry and tired and being taunted by a book that had no business being here among these other titles. With a cockeyed smile, he picked up the pen once more, dipped it into the dwindling ink, and under "item" wrote _one Knickerbocker glory_. Under "location", he wrote _table in study_. If only!

He glanced hopefully at the table—and nearly dropped the book. Reposing in a tall sundae glass was a layered concoction of ice cream, fruit, Jell-O, and custard, topped with whipped cream, nuts, and chocolate syrup. "No way…" he breathed taking a step toward the table.

"So," a voice said from behind him, making him start, "you've discovered how to use it. I'd hoped it wouldn't take much longer."

Henry whirled to find the Apprentice standing by the wall behind him—the wall with no door through which he might have entered the study. "Huh?" he managed.

The Apprentice's smile grew wider. "It would appear that the quill has chosen its next Author…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Harry Potter Cookbook by Dinah Bucholz (Adams Media, 2010) is real. The other books on the shelf are not. At least, not in this realm. In Narnia, it would be another matter…


	53. Chapter Fifty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Following through with OUAT's canonical predilection for character mash-ups, any resemblance Merryweather bears to a different "Merry" (or rather, "Mary") is completely intentional...

**Chapter Fifty-Three**

"Tonight?" Flora said with some dismay. "That's not much time."

Tink shook her head. "I know. I thought I should tell you."

"I'm glad you did," Flora said at once. "I've been afraid to see him. Not because I'm afraid of him, I suppose," she added. "More… if he asks me how I could have left him… I don't want to foist all the blame on…" Her voice trailed off meaningfully.

Tink nodded. "Even though you think that's where it belongs?"

"I could have done something," Flora admitted. "I had other options. Harder ones. I just didn't take them." She frowned. "You said that the savior might not have enough power?"

"According to Belle, Regina's going to bolster it," Tink supplied.

Flora hesitated. "If that's not enough, though…" She took a deep breath. "Well. I suppose I'd best inform Merryweather," she named the fairy who was filling in for Blue while the latter attended to Zelena.

"Inform?" Tink repeated, trotting to keep up with the senior fairy. "Don't you mean ask?"

Flora turned to favor her with a determined glance. "No."

* * *

Marco stood next to Archie smiling with satisfaction. "They're finally home," he said, gazing at his fireplace mantle where the two puppets now sat in a place of honor.

Archie nodded. "It's been too long. Marco, I—"

Marco held up a hand. "You know, it would be… nice to be able to talk about them without you apologizing again. After all this time, you think I don't know you're sorry?"

"You're right," Archie said quickly. "I'm sor—" He smiled ruefully. "Sorry." Then he clapped a hand to his mouth and Marco shook his head and tried to hide his amusement.

A bell rang softly overhead and Marco sighed an apology of his own. "Someone's in the shop," he said. "Wait here; it may not take too long."

So saying, he headed down a flight of stairs to the door that connected the house with the garage workshop. He didn't really feel like taking any new tasks on today, but business was business. He smiled when he saw who was waiting for him. "What can I do for you, Belle? Another bookcase? Or did you want me to install those wall-to-wall shelves after all?"

Belle shook her head, smiling a bit nervously. "Actually, I was wondering whether you could help me with something else. I… got an idea from a movie I saw some time back."

Marco nodded politely. "I… uh… need more to go on than that," he prompted gently when Belle didn't elaborate further.

Belle nodded. "Of course," she said, looking down in embarrassment. "Marco… is it hard to make puppets?"

Marco blinked. "Well, that would depend on many things. The design, of course. The materials… the level of detail… Is this something you want to use for a performance or is it for a library display?"

Belle shook her head. "It's something for me. Do… do you think you could _teach_ me?"

* * *

Henry was trying to process everything that the Apprentice was telling him, but his mind was already exploring the possibilities of a quill that could shape his thoughts into reality. His fingers were tingling, his heart was pounding, and even though he knew that the previous writer had gotten into trouble for what he was thinking about, he could help wondering if—

"It is tempting, is it not?" the Apprentice asked with a knowing smile. "The power of the quill?"

Henry flushed, wondering whether the Apprentice was making an educated guess, or if mind-reading was one of the old man's powers. He ducked his head once. "I-I just keep thinking. Maybe I could just use it a couple of times. To bring back my dad. To take away my grandfather's Darkness and fix his heart so my moms won't have to risk powering the hat tonight, to—" He looked up guiltily, but the Apprentice's eyes were kind.

"Henry," he said softly, "not even an Author can bring back the dead, no matter how much they might wish it. And as for the Dark One—"

"You took away my mother's Darkness once. I know you were forced into it, but you still did it. Why can't I do the same for my grandfather?"

The Apprentice shook his head. "I didn't destroy her Darkness. I transferred it. To another innocent. So," he regarded Henry with a look so intense that the boy squirmed in his chair, "is there anyone that you would force _that_ burden upon? Would you buy your grandfather's goodness at the cost of someone else's?"

Henry shook his head. "No," he admitted. "But…" He wasn't going to cry, he told himself fiercely. He wasn't going to cry. "I've already lost my dad," he managed to say around the lump in his throat. "Tonight… If this doesn't work… my mothers. My grandfather."

"And if the Dark One takes over, the whole of the town. And likely the rest of the world outside. Perhaps the realms beyond this one, as well."

"And I have to sit back and watch it happen?"

The Apprentice shook his head. "You have to pay attention and bear witness to the stories. Because they are—and will be—more than stories. They are the truth. And the truth is what you must write. Their truth... and yours." His expression turned troubled. "I hope that you can resist the temptation of the quill. The power to change reality is only outweighed by the cost."

As the Apprentice's words sank in, Henry drew one shaky breath and then another. He looked up and fixed his dry-eyed gaze on the old man. And then, quickly, before he felt temptation's pull once more, he snapped the quill in half.

"No one should have that much power," he said steadily. _Especially not me._

The Apprentice smiled at him. "It would seem that, this time, we have found the right person for the job."

* * *

"Oh, this won't do," Flora murmured, peering through the open door of the office that Blue generally occupied. It was currently inhabited by a slightly stouter, red-cheeked fairy with dark hair worn in a layered pageboy and a brisk no-nonsense attitude about her. Said fairy appeared to be multi-tasking, typing on a computer with one hand while scribbling on a ruled pad with the other. From time to time, she set aside one thin sheaf of papers and took another out of a pile that stood easily more than three feet high. "She's far too busy to be disturbed."

"But in Blue's absence," Tink replied in an equally soft tone, "we do need to ask her."

"I know, but..." Flora sucked in her breath. "I think we'd best come back later."

The red-cheeked fairy looked up at the doorway then with a twinkle in her eye and remarked, "This workload won't grow any smaller any time soon. Come in, ladies. Spit-spot."

Tink and Flora exchanged a bemused glance and obeyed.

"How are you getting on, dear?" Flora asked.

Merryweather chuckled. "Well, I know that Snow wanted Blue to appoint someone unlike her to fill in, but I'd rather hope that wasn't my only qualification. All the same," she shook her head wearily, "I'd probably make more progress with this rubbish if Blue and I saw eye to eye more often on what needs to be emphasized or prioritized. But I shall soldier on. How can I help you ladies?"

Flora hesitated and Merryweather grinned.

"This _is_ a bit awkward for you, isn't it? When last we worked together, I was subordinate to you and now…" She sighed. "It does rather change matters, doesn't it?"

"Just a bit," Flora admitted.

"Good. Now we've got that in the open where we can address it," Merriweather nodded. "And much as I'd _like_ to say, 'Stuff my promotion; we're still the same as we were before,' I suppose that isn't going to be true for the duration. So." She nodded briskly. "Clearly, there's something on your mind. Very well. Out with it, then."

"I suppose you're right," Flora admitted. "All right. Did I ever tell you about my first assignment as a novice godmother?"

Merryweather's frown deepened. "A bit, I think, though you were rather close-mouthed about the details. Still, I know you worked with Blue on that one, so it probably didn't go too disastrously."

Flora smiled uneasily. "Well, we didn't believe it had at the time. But later events have proved the error in that line of thinking. The guilt for that has been weighing on me heavily this past little while. But I think I might finally see a way clear to help… Well. If not to rectify that error, at least to reconcile with the party I wronged."

Merryweather's expression grew even more disturbed. "Is it relevant to ask the name of the wronged party?" she asked, a note of stern authority coming into her voice and adding new weight to her question.

Flora sucked in a breath. "Rumpelstiltskin."

As much as she tried to hide her surprise, the interim head of the convent's eyebrows shot up, seeking refuge under the shaggy bangs that fell across her forehead. "Well," she said. "Well. Well, I always say that well begun is half done. Assuming I'm coming in toward the end of the story, I think you'd best tell me the beginning and the middle before things proceed further."

Flora nodded. And then, with an encouraging smile from Tink, she squared her shoulders and cast her gaze downward for a moment. When she lifted her eyes again, though, they were clear and steady. "I suppose we need to go back a bit over two centuries, then," she said. "I presume you know that Tiger Lily underwent a period of self-exile in the wake of what happened with the Black Fairy. Nearly nine years later, she reached out to Blue with a particular request…"

 

* * *

When Flora was quite finished her tale, Merryweather shook her head. "Well. This is a fine to-do," she pronounced. "You know he's never been particularly forgiving."

Flora fixed her former colleague, now her supervisor, with a resolute look. "I'm not sure what that has to do with anything. Right's right and leaving things as they are now… isn't."

"You know what he did to Lucinda," Merryweather reminded her. "Just so he could be the one to send Cinderella to that ball. And that was when he only hated us because of his mother."

"And because Blue gave his son that bean," Flora added.

Merryweather nodded. "I'll concede that much," she replied. "Which is all the more reason that she ought to be the one going to him now."

"Do you see that happening?" Flora demanded.

Merryweather rolled her eyes heavenward. "So, you're telling me that you're setting yourself up to take the brunt of it. Here." A crystal vial materialized in mid-air. "Maybe he'll have the decency to ship what's left of you back to us in it."

Flora's eyes widened for a moment and her face went several shades whiter. Then she reached out resolutely, took the bottle, and passed it to the fairy standing at her left. "Tink," she said calmly, still focused on Merryweather, "will you see to that, if it should become necessary?"

Merryweather blinked. Then, she shook her head. "There's just no deterring you, is there?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Why did you even bother to inform me, then?"

Flora gave her a helpless smile. "I thought I owed you the courtesy? And… if I don't come back from this, maybe he'll still consider it sufficient to put his vendetta against us to rest."

"Doubtful," Merryweather scoffed. "You know that's got more to do with who his mother is."

"Blue and I didn't help matters," Flora said quietly. "And I'm done hiding behind her ruffled peplums. Merry, I'm serious. If he's willing to let things lie after this, please. No matter what happens to me, you do the same."

Merryweather sighed. "You know what Blue always says: Good doesn't exact vengeance."

Flora nodded. "Yes, but you might actually follow the spirit of that platitude as well as the letter."

"Not if he hurts you," Merryweather said grimly. "He does that, all promises are off."

"Well." Flora tugged her sweater down and tucked her wand into her waistband. "I suppose we can hope he doesn't, then." She smiled. Then she squared her shoulders and turned on her heel.

"I'll look after her," Tink said.

"You have no idea how much better that makes me feel," Merryweather said in a tone that implied the opposite. She was still muttering as the blonde fairy took her leave. "Instead of one pile of glittery dust, we'll have two. Splendid…"

* * *

It never failed, Rumple reflected. When he was feeling most at loose ends, Fate inevitably sent him a new challenge, just to test his limits. "This town may be small," he said, turning his back on the two fairies pointedly, "but it's large enough to permit us to avoid one another for the most part. As we've done for over thirty years."

"We can come back another time," Tink replied. "If that would be easier."

If there had been anything in the fairy's tone that hinted at smugness, fear, or a pointed attempt to 'play the bigger person', he probably would have given himself over to the Dark whisperings that reminded him of all the times that his life—and his emotions—had been toys for these buzzing gnats, to play with, turn upside-down, and destroy.

His mother had become a fairy and—just to twist the knife—dedicated her life to snatching random children from their cradles, never sparing a moment's thought for the one she'd abandoned to a ne'er-do-well father. He'd had to resort to her tactics, just to draw her to him for a moment so he could ask her why, for all the good it had done him.

Fairies, he knew now, had separated him from his father. And while, perhaps, Rumple couldn't entirely blame them for the second time Malcolm had abandoned him—it had been _his_ choice and against the fairies' warnings to share the bean with him—he had no such ambivalence about what had happened three years later. Hulda and Holle (he'd best start thinking of them as Blue and Flora now) had kept him just long enough to let him believe that happiness and stability could be his and then they'd left as soon as they could safely make their escape. He really thought he could have managed better had they been honest with him from the start and told him that this new home was temporary. If he'd understood the terms of the contract, he would have known what to expect.

He'd become the Dark One to save his son. Day by day, he'd known that he was losing him, but had Blue not interfered, he was sure that in time, Bae would have come around. And at least, when Bae had been there, he'd _tried_ to be on his best behavior. He'd still listened to the faint pricklings of conscience that had remained of the man he'd once been. The man who had absorbed the lessons he'd learned at the fairies' hearth for three short wonderful years.

Fairies had separated him from his parents. Fairies had separated him from his son. Fairies had come close to separating him from one of the only people he dared to count as a friend. And now, there were two fairies in his shop, one of whom had been complicit in at least part of the whole sorry deal.

An unpleasant smile curved on his lips. "I doubt that such a time will ever arise," he remarked with deceptive mildness. "You're a relative newcomer to this town," he acknowledged, "so perhaps you aren't aware that your kind hasn't seen fit to cross my threshold in over three decades. I was hoping that trend might continue. But then, whatever small luck I've enjoyed in the past appears to be running out. Now I'd suggest that the two of you follow its example."

"We'd like to help you," Flora said quickly.

Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "You'd like to help me," he repeated, dragging out each syllable and giving it a bitter, mocking edge. "You don't think it mightn't be, oh, two or three centuries too late for that, dearie?"

Flora shook her head. "I don't blame you for being angry. And after tonight, if you still want nothing further to do with me, so be it. But I've heard what you and the others are planning. You're going to need as much Light magic as you can scrape together for it. I want to volunteer mine."

It was on the tip of his tongue to throw her offer back in her face, but realization stayed him. If anything happened to Emma tonight—to Regina as well, of course, but particularly to Emma—because he'd let pain and pride reject this offer, then even if the rest of the town could somehow find it within their collective hearts to forgive him, he'd still never forgive himself. Not after these last weeks. Still… "You know that the hat won't confine anyone it's ever held for a second time. That could be true for their magic as well."

"Possibly," Flora nodded, "but from what was explained to me, the queen means to pour her magic, not into the hat, but into the savior. I plan to do the same."

"As do I," Tink chimed in quietly.

It would probably work, too. Rumple turned the offer over in his mind, looking for some reason to reject it beyond the simmering pain and rage that even now threatened to erupt, unleashing a stream of blistering invective while insisting that he wanted and needed nothing from her now. "If this is some misguided attempt to make up for what you and your… superior… did—"

Flora shook her head. "If I thought that was possible, I suppose it would be," she admitted. "But we both know there's no erasing what happened in the past. There's only the choice of whether to dwell on it or move on."

Rumple ducked his head once, his lips a thin tight line. "I don't suppose you could explain why?"

"Explanations are excuses," Flora replied sadly, but with the barest hint of her old no-nonsense briskness. "They won't change a blessed thing. If anything, offering them will sound as though I'm trying to mitigate past actions and that's hardly something that would sit well with either of us." She shook her head. "You know what we did. And we both know you didn't deserve it."

Rumple closed his eyes and turned away. "Didn't I?" he demanded hoarsely, appalled to find himself struggling to get the question out around the painful lump forming in his throat. "I've been thinking back to those days ever since I learned the truth, racking my brains to figure out why it was that you left me. I understood Belle. I understood Bae. But you…?"

The floorboards creaked and, without turning around, he knew that the fairy had drawn closer. "It wasn't anything you did," Flora said gently. "Or didn't do. Our departure was never your fault. If you can believe nothing else, believe that."

His shoulders were trembling and he hesitated to turn back toward her now. Why the hell had Tinkerbell come in with her? She had no business here and his business with Flora wasn't for her eyes or ears.

"Then why?" he nearly spat the question out as he did whirl back to face her, barely registering the protest from his ankle as he did. "What made you leave? And like that?"

Flora seemed to deflate. But then her chin came back up and her eyes locked on his. And in them, Rumple saw fear and embarrassment, but he also read an almost reckless resignation there. She smiled wryly. "I knew you would ask that," she murmured. "How could you not? I thought I was prepared for it, but I see now that I was as mistaken in that as I was in my earlier actions." She shook her head. "You deserved better. You always did. It was your misfortune to be looked after by two who meant well, but lacked the necessary experience and understanding to handle things properly."

Rumple frowned, waiting. Flora sighed. "You were my first… well, godchild, I suppose, though that relationship was never formalized nor made official. I was chosen for the role because, among other things, I had a better understanding of mortals in general and humans in particular. But I was also woefully inexperienced. And that inexperience led me to accept certain decisions over and against the very judgment that had ostensibly qualified me for the task."

"Reul Ghorm," Rumple nearly growled.

Flora shook her head, rejecting the out that he was handing her. "It wasn't only Reul. We both erred and I think there's more than enough blame on my end for me to cloak myself in. Blue didn't know enough to recognize that you weren't ready to make your way alone, not then. She saw children in the marketplace supporting infirm parents and smaller siblings. Or making do and doing well. She didn't see the vast majority who… weren't. Or she convinced herself—and half-convinced me—that after three years with us, you'd be in the former category. I had my doubts about that. Many of them. And, truthfully, since my main qualification for being on that assignment was my understanding of human nature, if I'd spoken up more vehemently, trusted my convictions more, I think Blue might have heeded my counsel. But I was still technically a novice and she was the head of our order. I let my awe for her position and my lack of confidence in my own talents still my reservations and you paid the price for it." Her shoulders slumped. "I didn't know the extent of my bungling until you became the Dark One, and by then, I dared not face you."

"But you dare now."

"Now there's a chance for you to break free of that curse. And my help might increase the likelihood of it working." Flora closed her eyes. "I can't change what I did in the past. I can only try to give you what I meant to back then: a better future. And that starts tonight. Whatever you might think of me, you can still use my magic. Perhaps, it won't be your _best_ chance," her lips curved wryly once more, "but I think we can at least agree it'll be a better one."

He'd been prepared for her to try to shift the blame. Reul would have primly informed him that he'd made his own choices years after they'd parted ways, and laid all accountability for the way his life had turned out squarely on his own shoulders. He'd half-expected Flora to do the same, or perhaps to try to assign the lion's share of the fault to Reul—who had, after all, been senior on that… What had it been? A mission? A task? _A burden_? At any rate, while there was no love lost between himself and fairy-kind, it was common knowledge that he reserved a particular antipathy for Reul and would have been only too eager to add another reason for it to his list.

Despite himself, her nervous if unhesitating assumption of responsibility was softening him. Somewhat.

Not that there wasn't a part of him that still wanted to throw her out of the shop, if only to protect her from that other part that wanted to rip out her heart and crush it as she and her superior had figuratively done to his all those many years ago. But there was yet another facet of his mind in play—one that reminded him forcefully of the people who had, all so recently, found it within them to forgive _his_ past misdeeds, including a number he'd thought unforgiveable. Somehow, it felt as though spurning Flora's offer now would be on a level with throwing that gift back in their faces as something devalued and worthless. But accepting it might imply that what she and her 'superior' had done was of no moment.

Why was he even considering her offer? He'd ripped out the hearts of people who'd wronged him less and crushed them before their eyes. He'd stabbed his own father in the back. He ought to…

Abruptly he turned his back on her once more. "I'm still angry," he whispered, wishing his voice didn't sound quite so ragged.

"You're still human," Flora said gently, and Rumple knew that she didn't mean her statement as condemnation, but as understanding, and perhaps even to his praise. He managed a shaky nod as he struggled to keep a tight hold on his emotions. He could, too. If she'd just give a chance to fully absorb what he'd just been told. If he could only have some space. If…

A work-worn hand, roughened and calloused came down on his shoulder, as it had been wont to do over two centuries earlier. He sucked in his breath as his knees buckled and he braced himself against the wall with one hand.

"Rumple…" Flora murmured.

A low whimper escaped him as he brought his other hand up to cover hers. And then she was suddenly on his side of the counter, pulling him close and he realized that the homey fragrances of fresh bread, juniper berries, and the rose oil she'd always used to treat her spinning wheel still clung to her as he—first hesitantly, then fiercely—returned the embrace.

"Midnight?" Flora whispered. "The clock tower?"

He nodded. "Don't," he managed, "don't be late."

The bell over the door jangled briefly to tell him that Tink had slipped out and he relaxed, then tightened his arms about her once more.

* * *

Despite the late hour, the pyrotechnics in the clock tower made it seem almost as bright as day. Rumple hadn't expected such a crowd and he wondered why so many people were here. The Apprentice was to be expected, of course. And Emma, Regina, Tinkerbell, and Flora had their part to play. He couldn't say that he was surprised to see August and Belle there either. And, despite it being a school night, he supposed that Henry's presence wasn't so unexpected.

But Emma's parents were a surprise. And why on earth was the pirate here, too? The elevator door opened to discharge Archie and Marco, who quickly found a place to stand along the wall, Whale on their heels. At Rumple's raised eyebrow, the first two merely shrugged. The last smiled.

"Last time, I found you passed out on the floor. If anything like that happens tonight," Whale raised his medical bag slightly, "I'll be ready."

Rumple blinked. "Thank you, Victor," he murmured, trying to hide his surprise. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had even one person accompany him purely to show their support. Now, there were more than half a dozen. He felt moisture burning his eyes and he needed a moment to compose himself. That done, he took a step toward the Apprentice, who stood watching, the hat in one hand and a wand in the other.

"Are we ready?" he asked with a bravado he didn't feel.

The Apprentice smiled. "Nearly. There's nothing truly significant about the stroke of twelve, but I find things generally proceed more smoothly when there's a deadline, or at least a timetable." He glanced toward the four women standing before him and to his right.

"You're aware of your task?"

Emma nodded. "You open the hat and I give it everything I can."

"And we give you everything we have," Regina chimed in.

"Not quite everything," the Apprentice murmured. "At least, we can hope not."

Flora and Tink were each carrying large wicker baskets with hinged lids. They pulled them back now to reveal squat glass jars. From what Rumple could see, each sparkled with pink light.

"Just in case we need something extra," Tink remarked, "we've brought some fairy dust along."

"Admirable," the Apprentice remarked, "but you'd best uncork those now; it will be difficult once we get underway."

As the fairies hastened to obey, the Apprentice turned to Rumple. "I'll need that tear," he said gently. "Once I begin, it will fall to you to raise the dagger. It's my understanding that the forces at work tonight will wrench it from your grasp. I mention this only so that you'll be expecting that turn of events."

"I understand," Rumple returned, reaching into his pocket for the vial and all the while suppressing a surge of discomfort. If this didn't work, if he remained the Dark One and someone else got their hands on the dagger before he could retrieve it… He frowned. "Are you certain of this?" he ventured. "I mean to say that you _have_ been fond of repeating that 'every Dark One tries and—'"

"'—Every Dark One fails?'" the Apprentice smiled genially. "Think about it. When the spell succeeds—if it succeeds—it will mean that you will no longer be the Dark One. So then. How could any Dark One claim success? But the spell should work as anticipated."

Rumple's eyes widened. Then he nodded quickly. "All right," he said. "Let's get on with this." He frowned. "Henry…"

"Just try and get rid of me," the boy snapped.

Regina sighed. "It's too late for him to walk home and good luck finding a sitter at this hour."

"I don't need a—"

"In that case," Emma cut him off, "we can teleport you back."

"Uh… on second thought, it's probably not safe for me to be home by myself."

"That's what I thought."

"Stand over by the stairwell," Regina cautioned. "If anything does go wrong, I don't know that the elevator will be safe to use."

Henry obeyed at once.

The Apprentice cleared his throat. "If we're all ready to proceed then?"

"Wait," Belle said, stepping forward.

Rumple shook his head, but a slight smile graced his lips. "I… suppose that if this doesn't work as expected, this may be goodbye," he said.

Belle smiled. "You've said that before, so many times. And you've always come through. This time will be no different. You'll see."

"I suppose I shall," he murmured.

"Rumple, I…"

He held up his hand. "Belle, if I don't do this now, I don't know that I'll be able to bring myself to do it later." He took another breath. "I-I'm still a coward, you see. Even now."

As he walked toward the Apprentice, he heard her call softly after him, "You're braver than you know, Rumpelstiltskin. And you will come through this."

He sucked in his breath. "Perhaps," he allowed.

"Not 'perhaps'," Belle insisted. "Yes."

He had no further answer for her. Instead, he took up the spot that had been designated and nodded to the Apprentice to begin.

At first, Rumple felt nothing but a profound sense of relaxation. He wondered whether it was a natural part of the process or some sort of anesthesia that the Apprentice had cooked up, much as Whale might have done for a more conventional surgical procedure. And after all, when one got down to brass tacks, wasn't this procedure tantamount to magical surgery?

He was holding the dagger aloft as the moments ticked on. His arm wasn't tiring precisely, but he was beginning to feel some strain when a strong tug tore the weapon from his grasp. His heart began to race. He'd felt something similar over a year ago when he'd first come back. When Zelena had forced him to choose between Bae and the dagger. He yanke his mind back to the present, reminding himself that the Apprentice had told him that this would happen. Even so, he asked himself just how much he thought he could trust the old man as he shut his eyes and instinctively flung his hand wide. A moment later, his eyelids cracked open. Then, as they adjusted to the patterns of light sweeping the tower chamber, they opened more fully.

The dagger hung suspended before him, his name—all fifteen letters back now—gleaming black. The hat floated on its side, its maw swinging slowly from right—where a stream of light magic flowed from Emma Swan's fingers, to left—where snakelike coils of tarry darkness seethed and boiled, streaming from the dagger, needle-tendrils of darkness pouring out from virtually every pore in his exposed flesh. He could feel it wriggling beneath his clothing and he wondered whether it was too late to call a halt to the proceedings, even now. How much of him would remain when the Darkness left him?

The hat was spinning faster now. Regina's magic was coursing into Emma. Tinkerbell and Flora each rested one hand on each of the queen's shoulders, while the other dipped into the jars of fairy dust. The darkness within Rumple showed no sign that it was lessening as it continued to flow into the hat. The dagger's glow intensified, the black letters and the design that surrounded them growing blindingly bright.

And then, in the depths of his mind, an amused voice chortled, "Did you really think you'd get off that easily, Dearie?" With that, Rumple felt his feet leave the ground. He tried to cry out, but an arm of sticky darkness wrapped around his mouth and he felt the hat pulling him in.

"It's going to be lean times in there, I fear," the imp remarked. "Not much to feed on. Afraid I'll need to pack enough provisions for… oh, say _eternity_?"

Rumple shook his head frantically and struggled to break loose, but he knew it was useless. The spell was going to get rid of the Dark One all right… but it appeared that there was going to be some collateral damage as well.

Him.

Darkness surrounded him, pinning his legs together, binding his arms to his side, blindfolding him. There was a roaring in his ears. He thought that he could hear faint cries of alarm over that rushing murmur, but allowed that it was likely wishful thinking.

And then, all at once, the Darkness released him and he was falling. Out the corner of his eye, he could see that he wasn't alone in that. Someone else was also tumbling, just a few feet away. But before he could fully process his observation, the wooden floor was rushing to meet him and he barely had the presence of mind to tuck his chin to his chest before he hit. Something heavy crashed to the ground beside him.

Everyone _was_ shouting now. And Whale was bending over him and Marco and Jiminy were…

They were rushing _past_ him. And when Rumple painfully turned his head, he saw why. Less than two yards away from him lay a man-sized wooden mannequin—or rather a puppet that had lost its strings. Its limbs were splayed at odd angles, its body silent and motionless. From where he was lying, Rumple could see the figure's right hand plainly.

It was curled tightly about his dagger.


	54. Chapter Fifty-Four

**Chapter Fifty-Four**

_Moments earlier_

At times like this, August W. Booth was keenly aware of his limitations. Standing pressed against the wall of the chamber atop the clock tower, watching the mystical forces swirling about him, made him realize that despite his own magical origin, there was a whole world alongside his that he could never truly be a part of. Mostly, it didn't bother him, but with such a blatant display of raw power happening before his eyes, he couldn't help but feel a bit left out.

Still, he supposed he was fortunate enough to be able to witness such an event. Not many in the town were here, and this wasn't the kind of thing a person got to see every day.

He looked to his left and right and saw that both Archie and his father were gazing at the spectacle enthralled. Yes, this was a serious thing… but it was exciting and beautiful and…

…And was _that_ supposed to be happening? "Wha—?" the word burst unbidden from his lips. One moment, he'd been looking at the Darkness leaving Rumpelstiltskin and now, now it seemed to be dragging him with it. "What's going on?" he shouted, not sure whether anyone could hear him over the crackling of magical forces, or whether anyone could answer him if they did.

The Apprentice locked eyes with him. And then, with the skill of a trained stage actor, his voice projected, filling the chamber and carrying to all therein. "The hat is strong enough to absorb the Darkness, but not to separate it from its host. And it is unwilling to let go."

"What's that mean?" David shouted.

The answer was instantaneous. "It intends to draw Rumpelstiltskin into the hat with it!"

"NO!" Emma cried. "You have to stop it. Or I will!" She tried to lower her hands and disengage from the spell, but try though she might, she remained locked in position. "Stop the spell!" she commanded.

"I can't! It's too strong!" the Apprentice called back. "It must run its course."

"There has to be something you can do!" Henry pleaded. "You can't let it take him."

The Apprentice turned to the boy, his expression a mask of sadness. " _You_ could have done something, perhaps. Or perhaps not. But there's no way that you could have been expected to foresee… this."

Rumple hung in midair as the Darkness wove an inky cocoon about him, obscuring him from view.

"There must be something…" Belle insisted. "Please, you have to try!"

The Apprentice waved his hand and an unseen force propelled Rumple back from the hat. "That won't work for long," he warned. "The only way the Darkness will release him is if it has a new host to feed upon. If it can enter into someone else, anyone else, then the spell will fail. But that would mean exchanging one Dark One for another."

Horror registered on every face in the chamber at that pronouncement. "We can't," Regina exclaimed, anguish writ large in her eyes. "That much Darkness… it would overwhelm anyone it took over. I don't think there'd be any way to check it."

August listened to the back-and-forth with mounting dismay. And then he realized that the Apprentice was looking directly at him. For a moment, he didn't understand. Then realization burst like a thunderbolt upon him. "There's _one_ …" he said slowly. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he sprang forward and leaped for the dagger.

"Hey!" he shouted, ignoring the startled protests from the others, his father's the loudest of them, "Hey! You want a new host? Have at me!" _And here's hoping that_ Child's Play _IS_ _just fiction, or I might have just made a HUGE mistake…_

He felt—rather than heard—a shriek of triumph, as the viscous black tentacles sprang toward the dagger's blade, wrapped about it, slid down his arm, writhed under his clothing, filled his mouth, his nose, his ears… His vision went cloudy as inky night filled his eyes and he felt something cold and slimy surround his consciousness, probing for a way in. It found one. Chilling laughter cackled in his head and he struggled to resist the power that now suffused him.

And then, he fought not to shout in triumph as a leg went first numb and then stiff. An arm followed. It wasn't until his other leg grew heavy that the cackling ceased and he heard a woman's voice gasp, "Wait. What is—?"

In his mind, August gave an almost-apologetic shrug. "Surprise?"

His other arm was almost immobile now but he managed to raise it. He couldn't help being a bit curious. Interesting. The name on the dagger's blade now read 'Pinocchio'. He'd rather thought it would, but he'd still wondered whether it might read August Wayne Booth instead. That way would have given him more letters to play with if anything went wrong. But no, he thought as his body grew ever so much more sluggish. Everything was going as he'd expected when he'd gone for the dagger. His life had always come with strings attached. And in opening his heart and soul to Darkness, he'd reached the end of those tethers.

August could hear the Darkness shrieking within him, deprived of its nourishment, trying to flee as his body grew denser, reverting to the wood from which he'd been carved. But although the enchanted oak from which he'd been fashioned was a porous wood like its non-magical counterpart, Gepetto had known his craft well. The stain and sealer he'd applied still held true. The Darkness was entombed within him with no way out. He felt, rather than heard, its gurgling cries as his innards fused to become a unified wooden block. And even as his brain grew heavy, he thought he could also feel the last threads of Blue's spell fray and unravel, though that could have been just his imagination. He wasn't feeling much of anything now, except for the shining conviction that he'd finally had the chance to play hero…

…And for once, he'd actually done the right thing on the first try.

The last thing he saw before his consciousness winked out was the fading interplay of light and dark that had been the weave of the Apprentice's spell, and the twinkling stars and black velvet sky shining through the tower skylight.

His final thought as he fell to the ground, his lips spread in a broad smile, was that his limbs had gone completely rigid, despite the wooden joints his father had so lovingly and painstakingly crafted.

He didn't feel anything when he landed.

* * *

_Now_

Everything hurt. Whale was telling him to lie still. Belle was holding his hand. But Rumple was struggling to get to August's side. "Booth!" He wanted to scream, but the most he could manage after the ordeal he'd just been through was a horrified croak.

"Rumple, please!" Belle placed her free hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him from moving about. "There… there isn't anything you can do."

"You can't know that! I have to try!" he snapped, fighting harder.

Whale pressed down firmly on his other shoulder. "You have to let me check you over," he said tersely. "As hard as you hit, you might've broken something, especially at your a—" He stopped. "Besides, didn't the Apprentice say you probably wouldn't be able to use your magic for a bit after this?"

He knew the doctor was right, but magic was based, not in facts or logic, but in belief. And if he believed that he could help Booth, then… He had to get a handle on his emotions. If he could just show them that he was in control, they might let him up. And he wouldn't be able to begin to fathom how to undo what had happened to Booth if he wasn't calm. "I still have to try," he insisted in a more-subdued tone. "Please, you have to let me up." He took a ragged breath, horrified to feel tears trickling down his cheeks. "You have to let me… let me…"

Belle slid her arms beneath his back and pulled him close and he slumped, sobbing against her shoulder.

His face was hot and his head ached and he wanted to do something besides stay there like a lump, but he didn't think he could move now. He was drained and sore and empty and so tired he couldn't keep his eyes open, not that he could see much through his tears. He knew Belle was stroking his hair and someone—probably Whale—was awkwardly patting his back.

Outside his field of vision, someone else—almost certainly Marco—was also sobbing brokenly, and he thought that he recognized Archie's voice murmuring some useless platitude or other, because really, what could anyone say at a time like this that could possibly be useful?

He lifted his head from Belle's shoulder and forced himself to look once more at the man who had been one of the first true friends he'd ever had. And then he froze. Was it just his imagination, or…?

"Rumple?" Belle whispered.

He pushed himself away from her gently and tried to get to his feet. He still ached all over and as soon as he shifted some weight to his good ankle, it buckled and he slid back down with a groan. Someone gently took his arm and draped it over their shoulders. A jolt of pain from his elbow made him suck in his breath.

"I'm sorry," the person—he realized now that it was Flora—gasped.

He shook his head. He'd endured far worse than that twinge. "Help me to him," he whispered urgently. "I think…"

Belle took his other arm and copied Flora's action. "Rumple?"

"I think he's moving."

* * *

"What the bloody hell just happened?" Hook demanded. He was bending over Emma, who had slumped to the ground when the spell had ended, but turned his head to cast a furious glance in the Apprentice's direction.

It was Flora who looked back over her shoulder at the pirate and answered, though. "He was born a puppet," she reminded everyone quietly. "Blue brought him to life, but there were… conditions on that gift. If Pinocchio ever ceased to be selfless, brave, and true, he would revert back to the wood from which he was carved." There was no hiding the anguish in her eyes. "And he chose to give himself over to Darkness."

"He chose to give himself over to Darkness to save Rumpelstiltskin," David protested. "I can't speak to 'true', but if that's not selfless and brave, I don't know what is!"

"An astute observation," the Apprentice rumbled. "I daresay it gave the Reul Ghorm's spell something of a fit trying to reconcile itself to _that_ paradox. And in the interim…" He crossed the floor swiftly and crouched next to August, giving Rumple an enigmatic smile as he did.

"Yes," he said, reaching for the puppet's right hand and holding it aloft. "I do believe he did it."

Rumple blinked. The space on the dagger's blade where his name had been was blank.

"Wait," Belle said, frowning. "How…"

The Apprentice touched August's forehead gently. "Once again," he said, "the force which binds itself to each Dark One is aware and sentient," he turned to Rumple, "as well you know. But in order to function as more than a swirling void, it requires a living host. When one offered himself to it in its most desperate hour, it leaped at the opportunity, not realizing until it was too late the trap that had been set."

Marco jerked his head up at that. "My boy… he sacrificed himself to…"

"To stop the Darkness from claiming another victim. He realized that his action would trigger the failsafe built into Reul Ghorm's gift and trusted that his transformation would be sufficient to stop the Darkness and," he looked at Rumple once more, "free you." He sighed. "I wish that I could tell you that when he turned back to wood, it obliterated the Darkness completely, but there must ever be a balance. Suffice to say that said Darkness has been weakened and it will be some time before it can regroup."

"How long?" Emma asked. Her face was pale and she looked like she could sleep for weeks, but she was standing, one arm around her mother and one around Killian.

The Apprentice regarded her seriously. "You really ought to be seated after that ordeal," he murmured.

"The floor's filthy and I don't see any chairs here," Emma snapped back.

"Point taken. Provided everyone has the good sense to leave the Darkness siphoned away by the hat where it is, there's every reason to believe that a new Dark One will not arise within your lifetime." An ominous note crept into his voice. "Provided everyone has that good sense."

"You'd better keep that, then," Regina said, inclining her head in the direction of the hat. She and Tink were supporting each other, each looking like a stiff wind might blow them over.

The Apprentice released August, and raised one hand. The hat floated into it. "I intend to."

"And August?" Rumple demanded harshly.

A cry from Archie caught their attention and everyone looked first at him and then down at August. All the puppet's limbs were twitching now, but as they watched, a bright light emanated from the wooden form. Those who had seen Rumple cocooned by Darkness moments prior couldn't help but notice that something similar was happening now, only with Light. The glow surrounded August for several long seconds. Then it dissipated—revealing one familiar individual, now clearly made of flesh and blood once more.

"I rather thought that might be the outcome," the Apprentice said mildly.

"What just happened?" Whale asked, hastening to August's side, as he pulled a stethoscope out of his bag.

The Apprentice smiled, but his next words were addressed, not to the doctor, but to Rumple. "He sacrificed himself to free you of _your_ tether. All actions come with their own price. Or, in this case, I suppose 'reward' would be the more appropriate term."

"You mean," Marco said slowly, "my boy is…?"

"Free of the original conditions under which he was granted life. From this point forward, his deeds will bring their own consequences, but you may expect them to be of the natural variety, not the supernatural." A groan drew their attention as August's eyes flickered open and he raised his head and looked about blearily for a moment. Then he groaned again and seemed to lose consciousness. The Apprentice nodded to Whale, a worried look coming to his eyes.

"But some medical attention likely won't go amiss for him or a number of others. This has been… quite the draining ordeal."

Whale looked up sharply at that. "I don't suppose you could get us to the…" He blinked. In the time that it had taken him to begin making his request, their surroundings had shifted.

And the Apprentice had vanished.

"…hospital," Whale finished in an undertone.

* * *

Whale's staff converged on them at once, whisking the injured into examination rooms and directing the others to a waiting area. Rumple was surprised to discover that, despite his pain, he was more or less intact.

"Hairline fracture of the ulna, and I know that other ankle probably hurts like hell, but it's just a mild sprain," Whale informed him. "Those bruises and lacerations aren't serious, even if they must feel like it."

"I suppose I should be grateful for small favors," Rumple replied dully.

Whale nodded. "It could have been a lot worse. When I saw you fall, I was pretty sure it would be. I guess magic must have cushioned your landing?"

Rumple frowned. "I-I don't know if it did," he admitted. "If so, it certainly wasn't mine."

"Well, maybe you were just lucky," Whale said with a shrug. "I'm going to check on some of the others. And… while I'd like to keep you here, at least overnight, I'll let that be your choice. I can release you with enough painkillers to tide you over for a day or so and a prescription for more. The fracture should heal on its own, provided you rest that arm. You can help the healing process along by keeping it elevated and icing it as much as you can. It'll take about two weeks for the pain and swelling to subside, though. Ice, rest, and elevation should help the sprain, too. Standard recovery for that is five to fourteen days."

Rumple considered. "If I were to opt to stay, I wouldn't be… confined to a room, would I?"

Whale blinked. "Not unless you were annoying staff or patients, and in that case, I'd probably figure that if you were recovered enough to be a pain in the ass, you were good to go home. Stay out of the restricted areas and you're fine." He smiled. "Of course, if you know you'll be out of the wing for an extended period, it'd be helpful if you stopped by the nursing station and informed us of where we could find you if we needed you."

Rumple closed his eyes and sank back into the cot. "I imagine that once Booth is up for visitors, his room ought to be the first place you search for me."

"Noted," Whale replied, showing no surprise at the declaration. "I guess you'll be more comfortable if we admit you than you would be on a couch in the waiting room."

Rumple nodded without opening his eyes. "Those were my thoughts as well," he murmured, no longer quite able to hide his exhaustion.

"I understand," Whale nodded back. "Well," he said heartily, "I'll send the nurse in with your painkillers and we'll see about getting you into a room, then."

Rumple nodded once more. Then his eyes cracked open for a moment. "Victor?" A faint flush came to his cheeks and he turned his head slightly. "Thank you."

Whale smiled. "Sit tight. We'll get you settled as soon as we can."

* * *

Merryweather looked at Whale and sighed. "You push matter in ways it wasn't meant to be pushed and you oughtn't to be surprised when things like this… happen."

Seated by August's bedside, Marco sucked in his breath. "My boy…?"

The fairy gave him a sad smile. "It was hard enough for Reul to change him from enchanted wood to flesh, and I do mean 'enchanted'. As I imagine you saw tonight, magic can have a will of its own. The spell caster can shape it to their own ends, but the farther off the beaten track that shaping is from the magic's natural inclinations, the more difficult it is." She shook her head. "Reul might have needed to use more magic if you'd used an ordinary tree at the beginning, but ultimately? The price for that spell wouldn't have been as dear and her gift wouldn't have had to be conditional."

"I beg your pardon?"

Merryweather was still smiling. "I have a _bit_ of experience in trying to bend a powerful spell to my own will. In my case, I couldn't defeat Maleficent's curse; I could only weaken it. In Reul's? Her magic was able to animate wood with no difficulty. For that, your using enchanted wood made her task that much easier. But to change the wood's nature entirely? To give you a child of flesh and blood? Magic born of wood must've fought that with as much… stubbornness as it could. Blue couldn't give your son life outright. She had to attach _strings_ to her gift." She waited to see comprehension dawn in the carpenter's eyes before she continued. "And then, well, when he reverted to wood, he was an adult. Trees may age more slowly than you mortals, but once they're cut down and their sap stops flowing, their magic becomes far more rigid and less malleable." She sniffed. "Probably why Blue's spell took him back to childhood. She had to grant youth to the tree in order to shape it again."

Whale shook his head, marveling. "I have to say, I never saw magic as being so… technical."

"You thought all we had to do was wave our wands and everything would fall into our laps?" Merryweather shook her head, still smiling gently. "I'm afraid that Rumpelstiltskin's magic is anything but unique in coming with a price. Science… magic… The laws governing each may be different, but never make the mistake of thinking that laws don't exist beyond the cardinal three. I can assure you, they do. And they are _quite_ real."

She cleared her throat. "As I was explaining, in the last two years, August has gone from flesh to wood to flesh. He also went from man to boy to man. And now, tonight, two transformations… changes of state, if you will." She sniffed. "Two years isn't even that long for a mortal human. For an enchanted tree? It's barely a blink. You're familiar with what happens when you subject glass, first to a fire pit and then to an ice bath, with no pause in-between?"

Marco's face turned several shades paler. "The glass… it shatters," he choked. "Are you saying that… that my boy…?"

Merryweather squeezed his shoulder and, smiling, shook her head. "It's a mercy he didn't go back to childhood again; one more change of state might have been one too many. No, he'll recover with enough time. And now that the gift of life is his with no strings or conditions beyond the normal ones, we needn't worry about any further… strain."

"So, as far as activities," Whale ventured, "should he be on bed-rest for a bit or…?"

Merryweather gave him an appreciative look. "That would be sensible," she approved, "if his was a mere physical ailment. I'm not saying he ought to be running marathons or hefting logs by tomorrow afternoon, but let him do what he feels up to doing. If it's too soon, his body will tell him." She frowned for a moment. "The only area that might be permanently affected probably isn't going to be a concern, considering he's never cultivated any talents on _that_ end, not so far as I know."

"Excuse me?" Marco asked.

Merryweather's smile returned. "If he ever chooses to attempt taking up magic, he's likely to discover he has no aptitude for the stuff. It was all in the tree and what happened tonight removed every trace of _those_ …" She paused for a moment, thinking. Then she sniffed once more. "I suppose 'roots' _is_ the best word, for all it may appear I'm making a poor attempt at humor when I use it."

She reached out to rest a hand on Marco's shoulder. "The Apprentice told you true, Marco. For better or worse, your son is fully human. He's free to choose his path, toward Light or Dark, with no fear of reverting to his original state. For now, though, those repeated transformations _have_ taken their toll. I wouldn't be too concerned if he spends the next week asleep." She smiled. "I also wouldn't read too much into it if he sleeps a normal six to eight hours and joins you in your workshop tomorrow to repair a cuckoo clock. It's not as though I've run into many people in his circumstances for comparison. I understand the forces at work and the reasons for his current state. Beyond that? All I know is that the worst is behind him now."

Marco clasped her hand warmly between both of his. "Thank you."

* * *

"Thanks," Emma said, turning over to try to find a cool spot on the pillow while her parents echoed their gratitude. "So, a good night's sleep and I'll be fine?"

Whale nodded. "Looks that way. We're keeping everyone for observation, but I don't think I'm violating anyone's privacy when I say that you're _all_ going to make it. And if I am?" he shrugged. "Report me. I mean, what do you think the OCR's going to do to me? Take away the license I got from a Dark Curse?" He smiled, obviously unconcerned. "It'll still be another few years before Storybrooke College graduates its first crop of medical students and until then, with or without a license I'm the best you've got."

"Rats," David deadpanned. "He's got us."

"Can I see the others in the morning?" Emma asked sleepily.

"We'll play that by ear," Whale cautioned, "but at this point, I don't see any reason why not."

Emma's eyes were already closed, but she nodded once and tugged a bit at her blanket. Snow hastened to adjust it. Then, with a loving smile, she bent over the cot to tuck in her daughter. "We'll stay overnight?" she asked.

Whale nodded. "Rooms are for patients, I'm afraid, but I can get a cot in here for one of you and I'll arrange some pillows and blankets for the waiting area."

"I'll take first shift," Snow declared.

David knew better than to argue.

* * *

The couches in the waiting area were padded and a good deal more comfortable than the straw ticking David had grown up using as bedding, but they were narrow and nowhere near as cozy as his own bed at home. Still, it had been a long day and he quickly dozed off.

He wasn't alone. Killian joined him off and on, dividing his time between Emma's room and the waiting area. At one point, David thought he'd seen him on the threshold of Rumpelstiltskin's room, but he'd been half-asleep and might well have been dreaming it. At another point, he'd opened his eyes to see Robin coming out of Regina's room, his hand resting lightly on a bleary-eyed Henry.

"I've called Widow Lucas," he murmured to David as he motioned the boy to one of the vacant couches. "Both our sons are sound asleep."

David smothered a yawn and when he took his hand away from his mouth, he was smiling his thanks. "They didn't put her to any trouble, I hope?"

Robin shook his head. "I asked," he remarked. "She made some remark about how sweet they are at those ages." His smile bore a hint of sadness. "If you ask me, I suspect she's missing her own child tonight."

"Ah." Ruby had been gone for months and it wasn't as though she could Skype them from the Enchanted Forest. David had a feeling that she could look after herself, particularly during a full moon, but he couldn't _know_.

Henry got up. "I'm going to sit with Grandpa for a bit," he said.

"Isn't Belle with him?" David asked.

"No," the boy replied with a slight frown. "She looked in on him before, but she said he was pretty doped up on pain meds and that there was something she had to finish tonight, but she'd be back." His frown disappeared, but his concern remained. "I just thought if he woke up, it might help if he knew he wasn't alone."

 _Like usual._ Henry didn't add those two extra words, but David felt a pang all the same when he reflected on what Rumple had gone through tonight. To say nothing of what he'd been through over the last couple of months. David nodded with an approving smile. "Go on, then."

Henry scooped up a pillow and folded blanket from the stacks Whale had ordered placed on one of the wooden end tables.

"Henry?" David called softly.

The boy turned.

"If you need a break," David said, still smiling, "let me know. I can sit with him for a bit."

The grin on Henry's face could probably have warmed the room if the heating had failed.

* * *

It was maybe an hour later that he woke up and couldn't fall back to sleep. After a few minutes, he got up to check on Emma, only to find that both his wife and daughter were slumbering peacefully. He stole out of the room, careful not to disturb either.

When he emerged, it was just in time to see Belle backing carefully out of Rumple's room. She had a paper shopping bag over her wrist.

"Belle?"

She turned to face him, looking somewhat nervous. "Rumple's sleeping," she murmured, drawing closer. "Henry, too. I… my shoes can be noisy. I didn't want to wake them."

David's gaze went automatically to Belle's stiletto heels and he nodded. "Mind you, I think whatever Whale's got him on knocked him out more thoroughly than any sleeping curse." He hesitated. "Or should that be 'blessing'?"

Belle gave him a small smile. "I was debating whether to leave this for him," she said, holding out the shopping bag, "but maybe it would be better if you gave it to him?"

"You don't want to be here when he gets up?"

Belle sighed. "You didn't hear."

"I heard about the two of you having a falling out, but I thought that earlier…"

"No," Belle shook her head sadly. "After what happened tonight, he," she pressed her lips firmly together and pushed them in and out. "He was glad I was there for him, I'm sure, but he didn't choose to shut me out lightly. It's going to take a lot longer for him to let me back in. If he does," she added with a wince. Then she pushed the bag toward him again, "I'm hoping that this might be a start. But I think it'll be better if he receives it without my standing over him."

"What is it?" David asked, taking the bag from her.

"Uh… something Marco helped me with this afternoon." She smiled. "I'm sorry. You can see for yourself. It's just… it's not very good. And I was worried that it might look a little too much like…" She gave him a pained smile. "Well, you know."

David peered into the bag and fought back a laugh. "No," he lied unconvincingly. "Really, it's not as bad as you think."

"Yes," Belle sighed, "it is. Marco did the shaping—he had some blank models ready-made, I mean—but the decorating was all me. I… uh… learned something of sewing and needlework when I was a girl, so the costume didn't turn out too badly. But as to the face? No, I know exactly what it looks like. So, could you please tell him that _I_ dropped it off and that I'd like to come by to see him later? I wouldn't want him to think that I drank…" She shook her head. "Well. You know."

David nodded. "Sure," he smiled. "No problem."

"Thank you." She turned to go, then hesitated and turned back to face him. "David? Will you… could you call me when he wakes up? Just to let me know? And if he tells you he doesn't want to see me, yet, I'd rather you told me that, too."

"Do you want me to ask?"

Belle shook her head. "But if he volunteers…?"

"Sure."

"Thank you."

David's eyes followed her to the elevator. Then he looked down at the bag and wondered why Belle had apparently wanted to fashion such a marionette, and why she seemed to think it might help her get back together with Rumpelstiltskin.

He shook his head. Maybe things would be clearer in the morning—correction: _later_ in the morning, since it was now 8:15AM according to his watch—even if he couldn't begin to figure out how.

* * *

The first thing Rumple realized as wakefulness slowly returned was that Whale's painkillers weren't completely effective. Oh, they worked to a point—he felt far better now than he had when he'd arrived—but his body was still stiff and sore and his arm ached dully. Still. It was a marked improvement over the stab of agony he'd felt whenever he'd tried to move that limb earlier.

His muted pain was less troublesome to him than the vague emptiness that seemed to press upon his awareness. Like a gap after an extracted bad tooth that his tongue couldn't help but keep probing, the silent absence of the Darkness that had been his companion for so long niggled at him. It wasn't that he'd enjoyed its presence over the last little while, but—much like the bad tooth of his example—it seemed as though he'd exchanged one sort of discomfort for a milder, yet still annoying one.

He wasn't used to being alone in his head. Even when the Darkness was silent, he was always aware of its lurking at the edge of his consciousness. Now, though, there was nothing. And while he couldn't say he wanted it back exactly, he still _missed_ it.

Sunlight stabbed at his eyelids and he slowly cracked them open. A surprised smile came to his face. With Emma and August both recovering from last night, he'd fully expected to wake up alone. That wasn't the case this morning. "Henry?"

His grandson set aside the book he'd been reading—the only book Rumple ever saw him reading these days—and grinned. "You're awake!"

"It would appear so," he murmured. Then, as the boy sprang forward and Rumple realized his intent, he quickly held up his good arm. "G-gently, now," he stammered. He was really _not_ accustomed to this. But, as Henry seemed to take the warning to heart and embraced him a bit less fiercely than Rumple had feared, he reflected that he could grow to be so—and more easily than he might have expected.

Then he realized that his grandson was babbling something. Something that sounded suspiciously like an apology. What in the world would he have to be—? "Henry?"

"I'm sorry," Henry repeated. "It's my fault."

"What? Henry, what are you talking about?"

Henry took in a shuddering breath. "After you left the mansion," he choked, "the Apprentice asked me to help him take an inventory of the b-books in the study. Only that wasn't really what he wanted. He showed me a bunch of pens and asked me to choose one and…"

As Rumple listened to Henry's story, he felt his heart begin to pound. "Are you telling me," he breathed, "that you're now the _Author_?"

"That's what _he_ told me," Henry nodded. "Only… I broke the pen."

Rumple gasped and the boy flinched and started to pull back. "I'm sorry!" he gasped. "I didn't think…"

"You broke it?" Rumple repeated with a groan. "Henry… how could you—?"

"Because of the dagger!" Henry blurted.

He didn't know what kind of answer he'd expected. In point of fact, he thought he'd been asking a rhetorical question. He'd assumed that breaking the quill had been an accident; it simply hadn't crossed his mind that the boy would have destroyed an object of such power _deliberately_. His mouth hung open stupidly for a moment. Then he struggled to get a grip on his emotions. The boy was frightened enough already. "Henry, what are you talking about?"

Henry gulped in another breath. "When Belle gave me your dagger, before she went to New York, I… I worried about what might happen if you came back and you still kept on doing… well…" He looked away. "And… and just for a couple of minutes, I thought about _using_ it. Not for anything bad!" he added hastily. "Just to stop you from... Well, you know. I-I thought maybe there was a way that wouldn't be as bad, like maybe order you to tell me when you were planning something. Or tell one of my moms. Or… I don't even know. But I couldn't. Even if it was for a good reason, it still would've been wrong." He turned back toward Rumple, but kept his eyes trained on the ground. "That's why I had to give it back to you as soon as I saw you. Before I got tempted again. And when I saw what it did to you when I used the dagger by accident, I knew I'd made the right choice."

"I'm thankful you did," Rumple said softly. "But I don't understand what that has to do with the quill."

Henry looked up then and, if his gaze was fearful, it was also firm. "Because I realized that using the quill would be like wielding your dagger. Only it would control everyone and everything. And… and if just holding onto your dagger for a few weeks made me think about controlling you, I didn't think I could trust myself to hold that kind of power. Or anyone else."

Rumple shook his head slowly. "No," he whispered, "I don't imagine you could have." But, Rumple reflected, _he_ wouldn't have had the inner strength to turn aside from such an object. And for his grandson to do so when he was barely thirteen, with a clearer understanding of what he was giving up than Rumple had had of what he was taking _on_ one dark night some three centuries earlier when he'd stabbed the dagger through Zoso's heart…

"Don't you get it, Grandpa?" Henry pleaded. "If I'd had the quill, I could've stopped the Darkness from trying to pull you into the hat last night. I could've saved you!"

Rumple shook his head. "But at what cost, Henry? All magic comes with a price. And I'm that relieved you weren't forced to pay it."

"B-but August—"

"—had the necessary capital. And his own curse to break. His willing sacrifice saved us both." He smiled, marveling as he realized that he wasn't just trying to comfort his grandson. He meant every word he was now saying. "Don't you see, Henry? You, me, Booth… We each had our choices to make yesterday. And it would appear—for once—that we each made the right ones." And in a day that had been filled with shocks and surprises, he rather suspected that that might just have been the greatest of them.

He reached his good arm out to Henry and, when the boy clasped his hand with an expression that mingled hope with disbelief, drew him in close.

"You are," Rumple whispered to his now-weeping grandson, "a most remarkable young man."

The sound Henry made was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but he didn't pull away and Rumple wasn't about to release him. Not anytime soon, at least.

* * *

Afterwards, Henry helped him into a wheelchair—he wasn't about to try walking on _two_ injured ankles, even if one injury was only temporary—and they paid a call on August. The young man was still sleeping, but Marco smiled a greeting to them both, even as he held a finger to his lips, exhorting them to silence.

Emma, too, was sleeping. "It's just plain old exhaustion," David reassured them, looking fairly tired himself. "Thanks to Regina and the fairies, she'll be fine with a lot of rest."

"That would appear to be watchword for the day," Rumple remarked dryly.

"Oh… before I forget," David added, "Belle stopped by earlier when I was in the hallway and asked me to give you this. She did tell me to make sure you knew it was from her, not…"

Rumple reached for the bag and peered inside. "Good heavens," he remarked faintly, drawing out the object within. "I do appreciate the warning."

The marionette's face was grotesque. The wide blue eyes were well enough, if too large for the head, but stain and varnish had been poorly applied, too thick in some spots, barely present in others, with streaks and dried droplets prominent. The mouth was uneven and lopsided, and the lips appeared to have been painted on over the stain, and before it had dried. But there was no mistaking the flowing brown hair—not yarn and, from the feel of it, not Belle's own, but likely some sort of synthetic. Nor could he fail to recognize the gold taffeta gown accented with beading, crystals, and sequins about the short sleeves and neckline. The beads had been amber with moonstone and diamond chips on the original. She'd worn that dress in her father's castle, the first time he'd clapped eyes on her. The ornament about the neck was new, though. It was a bit of yellow ribbon—a choker to match the gown—and hanging from it was a single white chess piece: a pawn.

There was a short string attached to the marionette's wrist, from which dangled a wooden square, with fabric pasted to it that made it resemble a book. The embroidery decorating that fabric was actually quite good, he had to admit. It looked rather like the cover of one of the ever-changing romance novels that Mr. Clark kept on a revolving rack near the magazines.

But there was no denying that the marionette's face was far closer in style to that of Marco's parents' current form, than to that of Marco's son's original one.

Rumple realized that there was a scroll tied to the marionette's waist by another bit of ribbon. The original gown hadn't had a sash, and this one really didn't suit it. Curiously, he undid the ribbon and slipped the scroll into his hand. "I do believe I'll read this back in my room," he murmured. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder at his grandson. "If you'll oblige me?"

"I could—" David started to offer.

Rumple shook his head. "It would be best if someone was at your daughter's side when she awakens," he remarked. "You may trust me on that much."

"I can manage it," Henry said and David smiled acquiescence and waved them off.

* * *

Once back in the room, Rumple asked Henry to fetch him a glass of water and, once the boy had run off to do so, hesitantly unfurled the scroll. In Belle's careful hand, he read,

_The Pawn_

_The duke's daughter, dreaming of going off on adventures, of finding her own true love, of forging her way in the world. But although it's seldom mentioned, at the back of her mind, she knows that she is a game piece to be traded away for the good of the dukedom. Chafe and rail against her fate though she might, she knows her role and will play her part. But she will still stubbornly choose to do so in her way. And at times, she can be so caught up in deciding her own fate that she tramples on that of others._

"What's it say, Grandpa?"

Startled, Rumple realized that Henry had returned and was waiting patiently before him with a bottle—not a cup—of water.

"It's… nothing," he said quickly, accepting the bottle with a smile and murmured thanks. "At least… Well. I'm not entirely sure what to make of it."

Henry frowned. "Grandpa… You know she still loves you, right?"

Rumple started to smile, but something checked him. Henry was growing up now and he was less likely to be brushed off with a 'You'll understand when your older' than he might have been even a year ago. "I do," he admitted.

"And you still love her?"

"Oh, yes." It was almost a whisper.

"Then…"

Rumple sighed. "I'm afraid it's rather… complicated."

"What isn't?" Henry asked, rolling his eyes slightly.

"Henry," he tried to smile once more, if only to soften the seriousness of what he was about to say, "sometimes love can be a weapon. And sometimes, it can cut too deeply. We may both still love one other, but that doesn't mean that we won't continue to hurt one another. I can never be the man she wants me to be, and so long as I remain in her life, I fear I'll keep her from her true happiness. And since I do love her, I must let her go. Do you understand?"

Henry smiled. "Sure. Only… I think there's something you need to see."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Actually, there are a couple of things. This one," he opened the phone and started pressing various buttons on the touchscreen, "I'm sorry it starts in the middle. I didn't realize at first that it was important…"

Rumple blinked as a video opened and he recognized the town line. It had to have been taken on the day he and Emma had gone to look for Regina and the others. Belle was facing her father, practically bristling with rage.

 _"…the man I love!"_ Belle was nearly shouting. _"I've always loved him!"_ Rumple shook his head. The declaration, while it warmed his heart, was no revelation. Then he realized that she wasn't finished. And his breath caught as he heard her next words. " _I think the reason it took me so long to realize it was because I didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to face the reality that the man I'd fallen in love with was a man that the other people I knew would never want to accept. As much as I told myself it didn't matter… it mattered._ "

He'd never heard her say _that_ before, though he'd rather suspected such thoughts might have been lurking beneath the surface. If she was starting to recognize them…

…The faint spark of hope that had been kindled a day earlier in the Sorcerer's mansion began to grow.

Seeing the expression on his grandfather's face as the video played, Henry grinned broadly. He hadn't decided yet whether to show him the footage of Belle slugging Blue today, or save it for a later time, but one thing was certain.

After a slow start and a number of stalls, Operation Hornbill was finally on track.


	55. Chapter Fifty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: OUAT canon has Queen Briar Rose as Aurora's mother. Disney has Briar Rose as Aurora's alias during her years in hiding. Since the S4E15 episode "Enter the Dragon" departs from Disney canon in showing how Aurora falls under her sleeping curse, I'm taking the tack that it was Briar Rose who was reared by Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. It means changing the name of her prince, but it was going to be a little confusing no matter how I did it… Also, I know King George is currently housed in the asylum below the hospital, but he wasn't an acting head of state at the time of his incarceration.

**Chapter Fifty-Five**

Belle gritted her teeth and tried to strip off the wood stain again for the fourth time. It wasn't coming away evenly. Worse, it had already dried in places. Wincing she decided to put the marionette aside for a bit and work on the costume. This one was easy enough; a blue dress with a short-sleeved white under-blouse, no beading or elaborate embroidery required—and while she'd never made puffed sleeves before, it didn't look _that_ difficult.

She was actually more worried about something else: the doll's dress pattern she'd found online wasn't quite identical to that of the style she'd worn all that time ago in Rumple's castle, but it was close. And it was designed for a figure with attributes that were markedly more feminine than those of the featureless wooden mannequins that Marco had sold her to decorate.

It didn't have to be exact, she reminded herself. And she could always use some leftover fabric to pad the bodice or wrap around the torso. She'd worry about that later. For now, she wanted to get the sleeves done. She reached for the white eyelet fabric and hissed a word that might have revealed to Rumple that she was more familiar with barracks language than he'd thought. Admittedly, she'd gained that familiarity after she'd left his castle and fallen in with the yaoguai hunting party, but even before that, she'd had some exposure to speech that was… less than courtly.

Her father had often come to visit her in her nursery, but he'd been preoccupied with other affairs and he hadn't moderated his speech when addressing the officers and courtiers who accompanied him to discuss matters of state. In fact, Duke Maurice had often sworn without compunction until, at the age of four, Belle had innocently asked him what some of those words meant. And while her father had hemmed and hawed, she'd proudly informed him that she'd manage to guess at several others, but these last eluded her.

_"Which words? No, wait. Don't tell me. And don't ask me either. You'd better ask your mother. NO! Don't ask her; she'll have my hide. Just… just forget those words. Don't use them again, you hear me? They're not words a young girl ought to use."_

_"But I can use them when I'm older, right?"_

_"Ye—NO! Well, ye-e-ssss, but…"_

_"Then I should know what they mean, so that I'll know how to use them properly when the time comes, right, father?"_

_"Belle! You are not to use those words until you're old enough and I'll tell you when you are!"_

_One of the courtiers standing behind him couldn't quite stifle a chuckle and her father rounded on the hapless young man with a thunderous scowl. "Silence! In fact, I think it best we continue this talk in one of the council chambers." He smiled hastily at his daughter._

_"Just play with your dolls, Belle. O-or read one of your storybooks. You like those."_

_She'd smiled back and nodded, even as she'd tried to figure out why he'd seemed so upset, and why he'd left so quickly and without really answering her question._

Well, she huffed, as she held up the fabric and eyed the smear of wood-stain that had rubbed off of her soiled work gloves, she knew what those words meant now, and she was fairly certain that this was the _perfect_ time to use a few of them.

She sighed. The fabric store was probably open by now and, while she probably did still have enough undamaged eyelet to make the under-blouse if she didn't ruin any more of the cloth, she had to admit that she probably _was_ going to ruin more of the cloth. Besides, she needed more embroidery floss and notions and she still hadn't decided on how to costume the final marionette.

And maybe, she reflected as she reached for her coat, this time, when she passed by the kickboxing gym four doors down from the fabric store, she'd actually go inside instead of hesitating on the threshold like she had yesterday…

* * *

August was awake when Rumple and Henry paid another call on him toward early evening. The younger man eyed the wheelchair with some dismay. "What happened to you?" he demanded, hitting the button to elevate the top of his bed so he could sit up more easily.

Rumple blinked. "Nothing near as serious a thing as could have been," he replied. "I… I wanted to…" He stopped, horrified to realize that there was moisture burning in his eyes. He couldn't break down again, especially not with Marco and Archie in the room. Particularly not Archie; it was one thing to recognize that the psychiatrist's brand of assistance was probably warranted, and perhaps Rumple might even choose to avail himself of it at some point down the road, at a time of his own choosing. But the last thing he wanted was to have Archie volunteer that service now, where others might hear and chime in their support for the idea.

He took another breath. "What you did last night," he managed, setting his hands on the armrests of the wheelchair and going through the motions of pulling himself closer (it was, properly speaking, a transport chair, so he couldn't actually propel himself, but Henry took the hint and wheeled him several feet forward), "I…" he closed his eyes. The situation mandated more than a simple expression of thanks. "Words fail me," he admitted. That was when he felt a firm pressure on his hand and when he opened his eyes again, he saw that August's hand was covering it and that the former puppet was smiling.

"I'm just glad _I_ didn't fail you," he said. "I didn't have time to think things through at the time. Now that it's over… a lot more could have gone wrong."

Rumple nodded soberly. "We were both fortunate."

"Hey," August grinned, "you're not gonna get mushy on me, are you? I mean, I'm trying to keep it together for those two," he jerked his head toward his father and Archie, "but if you start getting weepy, I don't think I'll be able to hold it all in."

Rumple snorted. And then, just like that, he felt his customary even temper envelop him and he remarked in his usual dry tone, "Certainly not."

August flopped back against his pillow with an exaggerated sigh of relief. Then he turned to face Rumple once more. "You _are_ okay, right? I mean, the chair's just temporary?"

Rumple blinked. "Yes, of course."

The younger man nodded. "Good. Because that thing must've had you about eight feet in the air and the floor wasn't what you'd call padded. Kinda glad I was wooden when I hit, to be honest."

Rumple sighed. "I can't say I'd care to repeat much of last night's experience. But the fall to the ground was hardly the worst part of it."

There was a light knock on the door. Rumple couldn't turn to see the newcomer, but a moment later a mousy-haired woman in the familiar blue uniform of the convent walked past him carrying a tray. "Suppertime, Mr. Booth," she said cheerfully.

When she turned around, Rumple did a double-take. For a moment, he'd thought… but no. While the newcomer looked a great deal like Flora, this woman was slightly thinner, her nose a bit sharper, her chin somewhat less-pronounced. Still, the resemblance was close enough that Rumple wondered whether the two shared a common ancestral house.

"I know we haven't met officially," the fairy said, and it took Rumple a moment to realize that she was addressing him, "but Flora and I are old friends. We shared an assignment for nearly sixteen years. She spoke well of you." Her lips curved in a wry smile. "Though I'll admit I didn't learn your name until recently." She shook her head. "That is to say, obviously I know your name, of course. But I didn't realize until a few days ago that you were her first charge."

"I suppose I can understand that," Rumple murmured, trying to conceal his surprise. "On the subject of names, I suppose I've yet to learn yours, as well." He was _trying_ to be polite, but as the words left his mouth, he recalled that back in the Enchanted Forest, his interest in names had generally aroused trepidation in others, to the point that many feared to speak his aloud, or divulge theirs to him. He braced for her reaction, already casting about for a few sharp retorts.

The fairy blinked in surprise, but there was no fear or hesitance in her eyes. "It's Fauna," she said with a smile. "And I believe I've your tray on the cart. Should I bring it to your room or would you prefer to eat here?"

He would have preferred to stay, but he suspected that August was a good deal more tired than he was letting on. And he'd already learned to his chagrin that using cutlery when one had a fractured arm—even if it was only a hairline fracture—could be an awkward affair. Under the circumstances, he decided he'd rather prefer to eat without an audience. "I think I'd best be getting back," he said.

"Just as you like." Fauna hesitated. "Flora asked after you when I saw her earlier. I was planning to look in on her again my shift. If you'd like to accompany me, perhaps I can stop by your room on my way…?"

Rumple blinked. "That would be… quite kind of you, dearie," he managed, doing his best to conceal his confoundedness.

As Henry wheeled him down the hallway toward his room, his face bore a perplexed frown. His interactions with fairies had been minimal and generally ranged from overtly hostile to icily polite. But now that he thought about it, most of his interactions had hitherto been with _one_ fairy. He'd assumed that they were all of a piece, with the possible exception of the Black Fairy, of course. And yet, now that he thought back, he recalled that Tinkerbell had been, if not friendly, then at least cordial on the voyage back from Neverland. At the time, he'd presumed that she simply hadn't realized who he was, but now he found himself wondering whether she'd known and just not cared. And as for Flora and now Fauna…

Maybe he didn't have a problem with _fairies_.

Maybe it was just Blue.

* * *

Flora was in good spirits, if a bit more fragile-looking than she'd been in the shop yesterday. She'd been feeding wool fiber onto a drop spindle—a tool with which Rumple was somewhat familiar, though he'd never had occasion to try one.

"It's portable," Flora said with a small laugh. "And it gives me something with which to occupy myself when I can't concentrate enough to read." She sighed. "My head is still a bit weary, but my hands are eager for something to do."

He watched with interest as the cop of thread collected on the whorl. It wasn't the spinning she'd taught him as a boy, but it didn't appear to be overly difficult. And, he realized with surprise after several moments had elapsed, this brand of spinning didn't appear to be triggering the sweating hands and heart palpitations that the mere sight of his wheel elicited in him now, after those wretched months he'd spent in Zelena's power.

"I don't suppose it would be something you could teach?" he ventured hesitantly.

"I have in the past," Flora remarked with a surprised smile. "It's a technique that fell out of favor some centuries back when the wheel gained popularity. A pity, really; I never could see why every new innovation seemed to demand that everything that preceded it needed to be consigned to the scrap heap. I'm meant to be on bed-rest for the next few days and I wouldn't want to imagine trying to use a wheel in this state, and that's if we could even fit it through the door!"

Fauna laughed. "I think you're still just trying to make up for those sixteen years of lost time," she teased.

"Stephan meant well," Flora clucked tolerantly. "Maleficent's curse wasn't something anyone of intelligence would ignore. Banning spinning in his lands for more than a decade and a half may have been a drastic measure, but I can see how he felt he had no other alternative."

"The guilds were in an uproar," Fauna remarked.

"I didn't say it was a universally-loved measure," Flora returned. " _I_ certainly didn't love it. Still… if I'd had my wheel with me in our cottage, well, you know Briar Rose would've been trying to imitate me as soon as my back was turned. If she'd managed to prick her finger before she met _her_ Stephan, then there'd've been no waking her."

"And she was that hard to rouse in the morning even with no sleeping curse," Fauna said in an undertone, but one clearly intended to be heard.

Flora nodded emphatically and Rumple tried his best to hide his smile. Flora—Aunt Holle—had always had a way of putting him at ease. The intervening centuries didn't appear to have robbed her of that skill. And it appeared that her colleague possessed a similar talent.

"I wonder how they ever manage to keep it straight," Fauna remarked. "Briar Rose marries a man with her father's name. Their daughter Aurora names her own first born after her husband. Was there a dearth of names in Stephan's kingdom, or does his family simply lack imagination?"

Rumple's best wasn't quite good enough.

* * *

There was another shopping bag on his bed, with another marionette inside. Belle had done better in letting the stain dry before painting on the features, although they were still somewhat lopsided. And the mouth looked rather like something that would transpire if a five-year-old had attempted to don its mother's lipstick. The effect was still grotesque, but there was also something strangely endearing about it.

This puppet was clad in a costume similar to the outfit Belle had worn in his castle, once her daily duties had taken their toll on her aristocratic finery. He touched the skirt and smiled. Ramie denim—any denim, actually—had been unknown in the Enchanted Forest, but it would have been a good choice for the original dress and was certainly appropriate for this one.

Like the first one, this marionette dangled a wooden block "book" from one wrist. Another romance novel, Gothic from the look of it. The castle in the background wasn't exactly like the one he'd left behind in the other realm, but the turret architecture was unmistakable. And the figures on the cover, the brown-haired woman in the yellow dress and the man behind her, hooded and half in shadow—but the hood bore a striking resemblance to one he'd owned at the time…

Intrigued, Rumple slid the accompanying scroll out from the ribbon sash.

_The Sacrifice_

_The Sacrifice has learned that her value stems less from who she is than from her strategic placement. Unlike the Pawn, she has accepted this status and the destiny with which she has been charged. If asked, she would claim that she is being noble and heroic. But really, she's simply too conventional and too frightened of public opinion to do anything other. So, perhaps, it would be better to style her 'the coward'._

Barely aware of what he was doing, Rumple found himself caressing the puppet's hair. Surely, Belle didn't truly see herself that way. He could still hear her proclaiming in her father's castle, "No one decides my fate but me," over the frantic protests from parent and fiancé. Nothing cowardly about that!

But then, his thoughts drifted to a conversation they had several months later, when he'd asked her about her motives.

_"I always wanted to be brave. I figured, do the brave thing and bravery would follow."_

Well. In her case, at least, it seemed to have worked. He blinked. _Or had it?_ He recalled the video that Henry had recorded, where Belle had admitted that she'd allowed her feelings and judgment to be overwhelmed by a fear of how others might react, if they truly understood her.

It was something Rumple understood all too well.

One blue shoulder-strap was slipping, sliding over a white eyelet puffed sleeve. Rumple adjusted it. Then he wheeled over to the window sill where he'd placed the first marionette. He ran his finger gently over the "Sacrifice's" cheek, before he set that one down beside the "Pawn".

He had some idea now of what Belle was trying to accomplish and, while he still wasn't sure if he could let her back into his life, he had to admit that he was intrigued by how she was going about trying to change his mind.

And right now, he realized, he felt a surge of connection toward her that he hadn't felt this strongly since the day they'd spent in Snug Harbor. More than that. He wasn't sure he'd felt this close to her since she'd come into his shop barely an hour after Zelena's defeat.

He still didn't know whether he could risk truly lowering his walls around her again. But he was, at least, beginning to consider the risk of _considering it_.

* * *

After three days, Rumple gingerly attempted to walk about his room. Whale had left a pair of crutches for him and, while it took him a few tries to master the technique, he was confident that the thing could be done. He didn't enjoy having to depend on others, even when—like his grandson—they were agreeable to it.

There was a knock on his door and, before he could call out a reply, it opened to reveal Emma. "Hey!" she greeted him. "Glad to see you up and around."

"And you," Rumple returned warmly. "I've been by your room several times, but you weren't awake."

"Yeah," Emma nodded. "My folks told me. I guess, even though you and the Apprentice warned me, I didn't realize how much that spell was going to take out of me." She braced one hand on the door frame. "Uh… you want to sit? Because I think I need to."

And he had no idea whether she'd noticed him wobbling as he tried to stay upright, or whether she was still exhausted from the ordeal. At any rate, her offer had obviated the need for him to conceal his own weakness. "Of course," he smiled, gesturing toward the chair by his bed. "Please." He made his way carefully back to the bed. "You're all right, though?" he asked. "Apart from some weariness?"

"Yeah," Emma nodded again. "How about you?"

He forced a smile. "Well. Victor tells me he's satisfied with my progress."

"I didn't just mean physically," Emma said. "I mean… Look, if you want to deal with stuff on your own, fine. But if you want some help getting by now that things are different, I'll do what I can."

"Different," he snorted.

"You know I lost my magic temporarily."

"Yes, but in your case, you didn't miss it."

Emma didn't say anything for a moment. Then she sighed. "It was… a little more complicated than that. I… part of me didn't want to stay in Storybrooke after we beat Zelena. I mean, I had a life out there. Maybe it was an illusion, but it was a good one and the people I'd met, the connections I'd made… they were real. Henry had friends. And there were no witches or curses or-or Home Offices or realm-jumping beans. Storybrooke has got to be the most… exciting sleepy little town in the world, but I'd had about enough excitement, you know?"

"I suppose I can understand that," Rumple nodded. "So, when you lost your magic…?"

"Maybe it was stupid," Emma admitted, "I mean, even here, plenty of people don't have it. But I'd been going back and forth about whether to stay. And without my magic, it felt like the choice had been made for me. I mean, I've always been able to come and go freely from here. Before the latest curse on the town line, I mean. I figured Henry and I would go back to New York and we'd come and visit a couple of times a year and things could just… go back to normal."

"I see," Rumple replied. "And…?"

Emma shook her head. "And it took a trip to the past to make me realize that Storybrooke was home, and that normal wasn't all it was cracked up to be. But it wasn't until I was able to open that portal in your vault that I realized how _right_ it felt using magic. Like I hadn't realized I'd had one hand tied behind my back or something."

She looked up at him, her face stricken. "I'm sorry," she said. "I meant to try to help you deal, not talk about how great it felt using magic again."

Rumple smiled. "Don't apologize, savior. I know the allure."

Emma winced. "C-could I ask a favor? Please?" She took a breath. "Don't call me that."

"I beg your pardon?"

Emma took another breath. "Don't call me 'savior'. I mean, okay. When the next big-bad shows up and I somehow have to deal with it, fine. But otherwise? It's a label. And labels don't tell the whole story." She hesitated. "You probably don't mean it that way. And maybe I'm not making a whole lot of sense. But when someone calls me 'savior', it doesn't just feel like that's what you expect me to be. It feels like that's _all_ you expect me to be. Like I'm not allowed to be scared or mess up or have a bad day or just want to chill out and watch Netflix or split a rocky road-butterscotch ripple sundae with my son and argue over who gets the cherry. I've got to be larger than life." She shook her head. "I may _be_ the savior, but that's a role I step into when I have to. The rest of the time? My name is Emma." She frowned. "I mean, I guess, when I'm on a call and I'm wearing my badge, you can call me 'Sheriff'. But just when I'm on duty." She blinked. "Gold? Why are you staring at me?"

Staring? Rumple supposed he must be. He shook his head slightly. "Forgive me," he murmured. "My mind wandered. Well. Habits are difficult to unlearn, but if it's truly so important to you, I shall try."

"Yeah, it is," Emma said.

"Well then. As you wish." He frowned. "Do you have the same objection to being addressed as 'dearie'?" he asked worriedly.

Now Emma smiled. "Not really. It's like when Leroy calls me 'sister'. It's not… personal."

"Ah." His tone was light, but his frown deepened. "Emma, while we're on the subject of names… By now, you must know that 'Gold' isn't truly mine."

Emma exhaled noisily. "I was afraid you were going to bring that up," she admitted. "Probably why it's taken me this long to broach this subject in the first place."

"Habits _are_ difficult to unlearn," Rumple remarked, but he was smiling a bit.

"It's… not just habits. It's… been hard enough dealing with everything I thought I knew about my own story being wrong without having to deal with everything I thought I knew about everyone _else's_ story being wrong. I mean, it's not just you. I had enough trouble calling Tinkerbell something other than 'Hey'." She shook her head. "But you're right. It's a two-way street. If you try, _I'll_ try. Just… bear with me if it takes a while?"

Rumple nodded. "I suppose that's fair."

"Guess I'd better head back," Emma said. "I was walking around for a bit before and I think I could take another nap." She sighed. "I can't wait for this to be over."

"You can," Rumple smiled. "And it shall pass."

"I know. Mind if I just hang around for another few minutes, though?"

"As you like."

* * *

She was gone, but he was glad of her visit—and not just because he'd come to look forward to the time he spent with her. She'd cleared up a mystery that he'd been grappling with from the moment he'd realized that she wasn't just helping him out of some self-righteous idea that Good ought to ever offer assistance—even to those deemed less worthy, or because she wanted him to owe her a favor as he'd done to her shortly after her arrival in Storybrooke, but because she genuinely wanted to render aid. Even while he'd been trying to darken her heart—and she'd _known_ it—she'd been on his side. She'd been a friend, even then. And he hadn't been able to fathom how.

At least, in Belle's case, he could make some sense out of it: love had a way of blinding people to truths they didn't want to face. But while Emma might _like_ him, and while his feelings for her did run strong, it certainly wasn't _love._

He still remembered what she'd told him up at his cabin, while he'd still been reeling from learning the truth about Hulda and Holle—he supposed he ought to call them Blue and Flora, now.

_Some people love to slap labels on other people. Coward, troubled kid, miser, trash… They just love telling you who you are. And you've got to punch back and say, 'No. This is who I am.' You want them to see you differently? Make them._

Those words she'd given him had proved to be the weapon he'd needed to snap the web of half-truths, fears, and suspicions that Nimuë had spun about him. But he'd missed something obvious in them.

Emma wasn't in denial about who he was. She hadn't forgotten any of what he'd done to her or to the others.

She hadn't forgotten _any_ of it.

Not how he'd left her in the elevator shaft while her son was at death's door in the hospital.

Not how he'd gone to Neverland to save Henry, certain that he was going to his own death.

Not how he'd been prepared to let the town die when he'd thought Bae was dead.

Not how he'd given his life to save the town from Pan.

Not how he'd tried to trick her into the hat and crush the heart of the man she… well, if she wasn't already in love with the pirate, she was certainly getting there.

Not that while he was still reeling from a year of slavery and the loss of his son, he'd come across the one artifact that could save him from falling under anyone else's control, ever again and been willing to pay any price for that gift.

She knew that he was the Dark One. But she steadfastly refused to see him as only that.

She knew he'd done things that were monstrous. She knew he'd done things that were cowardly. But she didn't define him by those actions. At least, not solely by those actions.

And unlike the other heroes, who were so eager to draw their lines in the sand and demonstrate that they were on one side and he on the other, unlike who shunned him when they needed nothing from him, who shied away from recognizing any sameness between them unless compelled to do so—and if they were, then they were all too quick to downplay such similarities and stress the differences—Emma wasn't afraid to acknowledge what they held in common. She'd claimed him for family, not just in New York, but far earlier, when he would have likely been arrested at Boston Airport for refusing to shed Bae's cloak at the security checkpoint.

He'd known for a long time that the savior—that _Emma_ —had a painful past, one she'd done her best to put behind her. He understood that. He certainly didn't go about talking of his days as the village coward, shunned and despised. But, he realized, she'd willingly shared memories with him that she couldn't have enjoyed revisiting, simply to show that she could empathize with some of the challenges he was facing today. That… was not an action one undertook when facing a monster.

Unless one didn't _see_ a monster.

Unless one saw a potential _friend_.

All those times she'd called him one, she hadn't been buttering him up in advance of asking a favor on the grounds that 'friends do things for each other'. (He'd had some experience with people like that. He was still waiting for them to make good on their end of the contract and do something for _him_.) She hadn't been trying to suck up to him to avoid getting on his bad side or appease him if she was already there. She'd apologized for her actions, yes, but it hadn't been about avoiding retribution. It had been about acknowledging the legitimacy of his grievance against the Heroes—something he hadn't even been sure he had a right to at the time.

He covered his eyes with one hand. What the hell was he letting himself in for? He barely knew the first thing about friendship. He was going to destroy every tenuous bridge he'd built this far. If he'd had no friends when he had power, why would anyone want to associate with him now that he had none? No, he was going to stuff this up, just like he did everything else. Even Bae. Even Belle.

He looked at the marionettes on his window sill and allowed that, perhaps, things weren't as irrevocably wrecked on that front as he'd previously thought. He took a breath, held it as long as he could, and let it out.

He didn't know much about being a friend, it was true. But he rather suspected that addressing Emma by name as she'd requested, rather than by title, was a good start. And if she wasn't yet able to reciprocate, well, he had to admit that she'd extended herself quite a bit for him already before she'd asked the smallest thing in return. Maybe he didn't need to be quite so insistent on having his favors repaid.

His eyebrows climbed and a small smile played on his lips. Perhaps he _did_ know the first thing about friendship, after all. Perhaps that would present a sufficient base from which to build. Perhaps.

* * *

By evening, Emma was feeling restless. Whale quite wasn't ready to release her and bleak skies and icy grounds had kept her cooped up indoors when she might have gone for a walk about the hospital grounds. When her parents suggested going down to the cafeteria for supper, she practically jumped at the chance.

A few minutes later, they were seated at one of the many tables, reading the chalkboard menu atop the counter.

"Just let me know when you know what you want," David said. "I'll get it for you."

Emma nodded. Then her eyes widened when a disheveled figure made her way through the open double doors. "Is that… Blue?" she asked.

The fairy looked a sight. Her reddish-brown hair was straggly and appeared to have streaks of egg yolk in it. Yellow feathers adorned her blue uniform, which bore streaks of white that Emma guessed (based on the circumstantial evidence) were probably bird dung. There was a run in her thick gray hose, her shoes were scuffed, and there were long scratch marks on one cheek, as though someone had raked their fingernails over it.

Snow sighed. "Oh, dear," she murmured, as the fairy made her way over to their table. "I guess I knew this was going to happen, but I was hoping it wouldn't be tonight."

"Huh?"

Anything her parents might have replied was cut short as Blue reached them. "This has gone on long enough," the fairy practically hissed. "I can't endure much more! Surely you must understand—"

"I take it things aren't going well," David murmured and Emma looked at him sharply. While by no means a stupid man, at times she thought her father could be a little slow on the uptake. This time, though, she had the feeling that he was deliberately playing at being obtuse. She raised an eyebrow in his direction. He gave her a warning look with the slightest hint of a wink. Yes, he was definitely up to something.

Blue wasn't amused. "That woman is _intolerable_!" she snapped.

"Interesting," Snow remarked, sounding nearly bored. "Because I do think we know of someone who had no choice but to tolerate her for a good deal longer than you have. And under far worse circumstances. And for far less reason."

"Mom?" Emma asked. "What's going on?"

"Official state business," Snow sighed. "Something I didn't want to deal with tonight."

"Is this about the Dark One?" Blue demanded, her eyes wide with astonishment. "I was under the impression that it had to do with Pinocchio. Since when have you allied yourselves with—?"

"That's about as much your concern as you thought giving August flashbacks was ours," Snow cut her off. "We asked you to try this for six months. It hasn't even been six days. I must say, Blue, that if you're looking for a second chance, you need to demonstrate that you're putting forth a bit of effort instead of just sitting in her cell looking annoyed."

"What are you…?" Blue sucked in her breath. "The cameras. You've been _spying_ on me?"

"We've been checking to make sure that Zelena wasn't posing any threat to you," David shot back. "After all, it hardly seemed fair to take you to task for giving people some vague instruction and then washing your hands of them when they didn't follow it, if we were going to act the same way. We wanted to see how you were managing. Let's just say we'd be more sympathetic if we thought you were at least _trying_ to make some progress."

The fairy lowered her eyes, but not before Emma saw a red flush spread over her cheeks. "Could I ask you to at least remove that _chicken_?" she asked plaintively.

"You can consult with Dr. Hopper on that one," Snow smiled. "If he doesn't think that separating her from the one living thing she seems to genuinely care for will harm her progress, I don't think anyone else would object."

"Oh!" The fairy turned on her heel and hurried away, revealing more white and yellow streaks on the back of her blue skirt and sweater.

Snow slapped her hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I know I should feel awful about this!" A giggle escaped her and she clamped her hand down more firmly. "Or at the very least," she said after gulping in several breaths, "I shouldn't be l-laughing at her. Only…"

"I do feel a little sorry for her," David admitted.

"I know!"

Emma looked from one parent to the other, her eyes wide. "You locked Blue up with _Zelena_?" she exclaimed. "When? How? What did I miss?"

"Uh… it's… kind of a long story," Snow managed, still trying to get her mirth under control.

Emma leaned back in her chair. "I haven't got anywhere else to be," she pointed out.

"Well," David began, still smiling a bit, "I guess we were both a bit… um… _disturbed_ by the way Blue was—and had been... handling things, and we tried to find a way to have the punishment fit the crime…"

* * *

Fauna dropped off another marionette with Rumple's evening dose of painkillers. This one wore denim overalls and a collared button-down shirt with a scroll that proclaimed it to be "The Fixer".

_So eager to be helpful and useful, but never once pausing to reflect whether the assistance she offers is what's truly needed or even wanted. Sometimes, she can do such a grand job of convincing herself she knows what she's doing that she succeeds in convincing everyone around her, too—including those who should know better…_

Rumple realized that the fairy hadn't left, but was waiting patiently for him to set the missive down. "Something else for you, dearie?" he asked, and if voice was mild, there was still a hint of annoyance in it.

Fauna smiled. "Not for me," she returned easily. "But the young lady who sent this asked me to mention that she would like to see you, if you're amenable." She hesitated. "Truth be told, she only asked me to mention it if you inquired after her, but I thought you ought to have that chance—which you wouldn't if I'd departed at once."

"And so, you've relayed that message despite her precondition not having been met."

Fauna shrugged. "Yes, well, apparently she's been leaving some variation of it with everyone she talks to. I'm hardly about to go blundering in to try to encourage or dissuade you. I feel rather as though I'm walking into the theater midway through the play's final act and trying to deduce the plot despite having missed all that's gone before," she said frankly. "And even if I could somehow puzzle it all out, it's still not my business to interfere. But, at least, now you know she wants to talk. Whether you allow it is entirely your decision and I'll speak no more of it—not with you, unless bidden, nor with anyone else under any circumstances." She smiled. "Have a good evening."

And then, she was gone with a swish of a gray skirt, leaving Rumple alone with the puppet. He held it close as he tenderly brought it to the shelf with the others. Then he started back for the bed. Seeing the pills on the night stand gave him pause. They would dull his pain, but they would also dull his mind. And he rather felt he needed his wits about him if he was to determine whether he could afford to risk letting Belle in once more.

He was still considering, wavering between hope and resignation, not yet certain if he dared to risk the former, not yet ready to fully accept the latter.

He reached for his cane—the old injury was smarting tonight, but his other ankle barely bothered him now, though Whale had still urged him not to overdo. Surely a circuit or two of the corridors wouldn't tax him too much. And the change of scene might help him to get his thoughts in order. He slipped into a robe, tying the sash securely about his waist. Then he waited several minutes, giving Fauna time to finish her rounds on the floor before he made his way toward the door, and the hall beyond.

* * *

The halls were quiet at this hour. If any nurses were making rounds, Rumple didn't encounter them. He passed a vending machine alcove and studied the offerings, more out of boredom than hunger. He debated getting something for later, before he remembered that he had no ready cash with him and his wallet was back in the room. He turned around and froze, startled to come face to face with Snow, who stepped back at once.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I was just going to get a coffee."

"Of course," he murmured, realizing that he was standing directly in front of the machine and blocking her path. He moved away as hastily as he could. Still, she hesitated.

"Rumpelstiltskin? Aren't you getting one?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure that's wise for me at this hour," he said pleasantly.

"Oh, right." Snow pulled out her change purse. "I should've realized." She glanced at the options, then back to him. "There's decaf. And a couple of herbal teas. You're sure you don't want anything?"

He frowned. Was she offering to treat him? She hadn't stated it, and though it sounded as though she was implying so, he knew better than to make assumptions about the terms of any offer. "Not at the moment," he returned. And then, just in case he hadn't misread the implication, he added, "Thank you."

She smiled back and deposited her coins in the machine. A moment later, she was holding a steaming Styrofoam cup from which emanated a fragrant brew. "Unlike you," she sighed, "I need to stay awake."

"Indeed?" Rumple prompted, curious as to why she seemed intent on engaging him in conversation.

She sighed. "Sorry. I've just got a lot on my mind. And I guess it sort of concerns you. Not only you. And I guess it's my call at the end of the day." She took a sip of her drink and winced a bit. "Which I guess this is," she added, gesturing vaguely toward the clock mounted high on the wall.

"Mrs. Nolan?"

Snow motioned toward several small tables and stools occupying about a third of the vending room. "Would you like to sit down?"

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "I think it's less a question of want than of need at the moment," he admitted, moving toward the closest stool and hoping that his hobbling wasn't any more obvious than usual.

"Right," Snow sighed. "I'm dealing with a situation where someone has…" she hesitated. "I guess, back in our land, I'd say I was reviewing a petition for clemency."

"Clemency," Rumple repeated with a sniff.

Snow nodded. "Someone who hurt a number of people. And, because of who she is and certain… connections, I thought I was already being a little easier on her than I needed to be. Only she doesn't see it that way."

Rumple nodded. A gilded cage was still a cage and while he didn't doubt that Zelena's quarters had more amenities than the ones the witch had confined him to, he supposed he could take her point. It was on the tip of his tongue to demand to know how Snow could even consider clemency after everything the witch had done, but then he took a moment to consider and realized that, in all likelihood, this was another test. Doubtless, Snow was attempting to see whether, with his Darkness gone, he was going to start spouting the same beatific claptrap that she and the other heroes were wont to do. Well. He could certainly play that game.

"So," he said, "you're considering giving her a second chance."

Snow let out a noisy sigh. "I think we're probably way past second at this point," she replied.

This time, Rumple couldn't quite keep from smiling as he nodded again. "And yet, you're still thinking about it."

"She hasn't learned anything," Snow said. "I wanted her to. But if not, if she'll at least stop doing… well… what she's done, maybe that's enough. Maybe the rest will come in time."

Rumple sighed. "Optimism has its place, dearie. I suppose you need to find some way to determine whether this is it."

"I know," Snow sighed again. "I keep going back and forth over it."

"Well," Rumple said slowly, "one can't help but notice the number of people in this town who have been granted additional chances and—after a number of false starts, at any rate—done well with them." He looked away and added in an undertone, "Don't think I'm not grateful for mine."

"So, you think I should—"

"Well, I'm not suggesting that you release her with no assurances. Can't have her tossing her magic about willy-nilly, after all. But with the proper checks on her power, I suppose I can manage to keep out of her way," he smiled.

"She won't like that," Snow said slowly, but it didn't sound like she was dismissing his advice.

"To hear you tell it, she enjoys incarceration far less."

"True," Snow nodded. "All right. I'll talk it over with David tonight, but I think he'll agree to it. We'll give Blue the good news in the morning."

Rumple blinked. "Wait. _Blue_?"

"Yes," Snow said blankly. "Who did you think I meant?"

"Why… Zelena, of course," Rumple managed. Then, incredulously, "Do you mean to say that you've imprisoned the Blue Fairy?"

"Uh… kind of?" Snow replied. "I mean, I couldn't do it officially. But I thought that giving her six months to try to rehabilitate Zelena would kind of accomplish the same thing. I mean, she has to spend several hours a day in that cell with her, so even though she gets to go back to the convent at night, it's still…"

Rumple managed to stifle his laughter, but not his mirth. "Rehabilitate Zelena? Your optimism is truly boundless."

"Maybe," Snow admitted. "But my realism told me that, since I don't actually have jurisdiction over Blue, I couldn't officially _punish_ her for what she did. What I _could_ do was give her an assignment that worked out to more or less the same thing. The way I saw it when I gave Blue that task, either she'd have a miserable six months… or she'd actually manage to break through to Zelena. I thought it over and realized I'd be fine with either outcome."

Rumple's jaw dropped. It wasn't that he didn't see the problem: fairies were not, strictly speaking, subject to any authority save that of their own order. And since Blue led that order, Snow was quite right. She could no more imprison the Blue Fairy than she could any reigning mortal head of state. At least, she couldn't _call_ it imprisonment. But she'd done the next best thing. Rumple closed his mouth hastily. Then he laid his index finger first across his lips, and then raised it to the bridge of his nose—the same wordless salute he'd given her when she'd named her son after his. "I must admit I'm impressed by your solution," he murmured.

"For the record," Snow added, "I'm going to need some pretty strong assurances before I consider letting Zelena out of her cell, much less getting rid of that cuff. But Blue's a different story. I don't think she poses the same threat, especially now that she knows we're going to be keeping an eye on her." She hesitated. "Based on what you just told me, I know when you gave me your advice, just now, you thought you were giving it for Zelena. Are you okay with it being applied to Blue?"

"Indeed," Rumple nodded. Recent revelations on the fairy's part had cut deeply, but compared to the tortures that Zelena had inflicted upon him, Blue's crimes really were rather minor. At least, Rumple reflected, they were where he was concerned. "You might want to discuss this matter with August, however."

Snow nodded. "You're right. Rumpelstiltskin?"

He looked up at the interrogative. "Hmm?"

"Assuming that August doesn't object… when I tell Blue we're releasing her from her assignment, do you want me to let her know that it was mainly on your advice?"

Rumple blinked. "That won't sit well with her, dearie," he remarked.

"I suppose that's probably a pity," Snow shrugged, sounding as though she was discussing nothing more worrisome than the possibility of a school field day being called on account of rain.

Nonplussed, Rumple added, "She might well decide to continue to work with the witch out of sheer spite."

Snow shrugged again. "She's always been free to minister to any of the patients in this hospital—including those currently in custody. If she wants to keep trying to help Zelena, then I guess it does show that she's learning not to despair of difficult cases as quickly as she used to."

She didn't think she'd ever seen Rumpelstiltskin grin from ear to ear before, but as she returned the smile, she found herself hoping she'd have more reason to see it in the future.

* * *

When dinner arrived the following evening, Rumple was in the middle of winding a cop of spun yarn into a ball.

"And you say you've never used a drop spindle until a few days ago," Fauna remarked, setting the tray down on the nightstand.

"Well, it appears I've a knack for it," Rumple murmured. And it was so pleasant to be able to lose himself in the twirl of the spindle as he once had in the whirl of the wheel. He'd been feeling a good deal more at ease these last few days, and while it might have been because of various unexpected friendly overtures, he knew that he hadn't experienced this sort of calm since Zelena had transformed his favorite pastime into a source of stress and agitation. And with all of the upheavals that had taken place in his life since the witch's defeat, he definitely _needed_ a means of relaxation.

"This came for you, as well," Fauna remarked, setting another shopping bag down on the table.

Rumple nodded. "Yes, about that." He took a deep breath. "Dr. Whale has advised me that he expects I'll be discharged within two or three days. If you should speak with Belle again, and I've no doubt you will…" He took another breath. "Tell her that if she's so inclined, she might call on me at the shop next week."


	56. Chapter Fifty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm taking the tack that while Killian may have made careful study of Rumpelstiltskin, he may not know all there is to know about the making of a Dark One. If he didn't know about the dagger until he met Bae, it's likely that he didn't know—and still doesn't—that Rumple had to murder Zoso to become the Dark One.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: Some dialogue quoted from S2E22 "And Straight On 'Til Morning".

**Chapter Fifty-Six**

 

Killian Jones couldn't quite believe what he was about to do. It was one thing to end what had amounted to a blood feud at his True Love's request. It even made a certain amount of sense. Rumpelstiltskin was Emma's son's grandfather. If Killian wanted to make a life with her, it meant that he'd have to accept that the Dark One—former Dark One—would be part of that life, blood feud or no. And if their enmity wasn't put to rest…

Killian chewed his lower lip, frowning. Emma had lived a tumultuous childhood, he knew. He wasn't for a moment making light of it simply because, on the surface, it sounded somewhat easier than his own. This realm was far less harsh than the one in which he'd grown up, but a child without a strong parent, patron, or protector—or worse, a child betrayed by those who should have acted as such to her—was a child poised to grow up bitter, angry, and resentful. It wasn't as though she'd led some sheltered existence and didn't know that the world could be a cruel and unforgiving place. Still, Killian allowed that many ramifications of curses, immortal enemies, and blood feuds were far outside Emma's experience. She had no idea of the threats such could pose to the next generation. He'd been willing to try to mend fences with the Dark One if only to assure Henry's safety, as well as the safety of any offspring he (and Emma) might have in future. And, to her credit, when Emma had requested that he and Rumpelstiltskin come to some sort of accommodation, it had been without attaching an ultimatum.

Killian had spent too many years in indentured servitude as a youth not to resent being forced into things afterwards. Had Emma made their relationship incumbent upon his making peace with Rumpelstiltskin, he had little doubt that he would have chosen to end the relationship—not because he preferred vengeance to love, but because he balked at being controlled and ordered about, even by someone he loved. Especially by someone he loved.

He paused. That thought… sounded uncomfortably like one that must surely have gone through the mind of someone else he knew and he flinched as, from the depths of memory, a fourteen-year-old boy's angry voice shouted, _You hated my father so much, you didn't even realize you were just like him!_

Hook shook his head in unconscious response. It wasn't true. It wasn't. Except for those uncomfortable bits and pieces where it was. He didn't like admitting to those. The more he recognized parts of himself in the Dark One—he supposed he'd best get used to calling him Rumpelstiltskin now, after witnessing the events several nights ago—the harder it was to maintain his hatred. Not that he necessarily wanted to maintain it, but he'd carried it long enough for it to be comforting in its familiarity. And there was the matter of Milah. Wouldn't mending fences with her murderer be disloyal to her memory?

Wouldn't staying loyal to her memory be doing a disservice to the woman he'd grown to love?

Sometimes, Killian thought so. At other times, he didn't. But there were two things he thought he could be clear on at the moment.

The Dark One had murdered Milah.

Rumpelstiltskin was now, quite emphatically, no longer the Dark One. And Rumpelstiltskin—the man he'd met so many years ago on the docks—had been no murderer. Not then.

Killian turned those thoughts over in his mind and combined them with the behavior he'd witnessed since Rumpelstiltskin had returned from New York. He asked himself one more time if he still wanted to loose sail with the notion that had crept into his head the night before. Ranged against it were the memory of his first love, his pride, and the worrying idea that he'd grown so attached to the old vendetta that he might not know what to do with himself without it. But ranged with it? The knowledge that the woman he wanted to live the rest of his life with would approve. That Rumpelstiltskin was her son's grandfather. And that he'd already asked for a truce and—astonishingly—had his request granted. And if it had been granted with some caution and reservation, well, Killian could scarcely fault Rumpelstiltskin for that—not after so much history and bad blood.

Moreover, his years as a pirate had given him a good sense of which way the wind was blowing. And in Storybrooke, it was currently gusting in the former Dark One's direction. Attempting to sail against such forces was often a recipe for disaster.

And there was one other consideration—however minor—that had nothing to do with Rumpelstiltskin or blood feuds or forsaking comfortable hatreds and everything to do with a young man, currently laid up on a hospital bed, and fast growing bored with his situation. Killian didn't know August well, but he liked what he'd seen of the young man so far. Forced inactivity could make anyone restless. The former puppet would probably be glad of having something with which to occupy the time.

Yes, Killian resolved, he'd go ahead with this idea. And when he had the finished product in hand, well, there'd be plenty of time to decide whether to give it away as he currently planned—and who the recipient would be.

But the way events had been taking shape thus far, he rather thought it might be Rumpelstiltskin after all…

* * *

August let loose a startled laugh. "Excuse me?"

"Battleship," Killian repeated. "Perhaps you know it as Sink the Fleet or Flotillas in the Fog."

"No, no, I know what Battleship is," August said. "I guess I just didn't think… I mean… sure. If that's what you want."

Killian nodded, wondering why the cricket and the handyman seemed to be fighting smiles. Surely they couldn't have divined why he was offering the commission. _He_ wasn't even sure he was going to give it away when it was done. "It is. Vessels from our world; perhaps you might use ships from the naval forces of two different kingdoms. If not, at least paint them in different colors. And the grids and firing pegs, of course."

"Of course," August nodded. "I won't finish it before I get out of here and with the details you're asking for, it'll take me a while—"

"And the price?" Killian shrugged. "I'm not certain the value of all this paper that passes as currency in this realm, but I trust that you are."

August nodded again. "Hang on." He beckoned to Marco.

"Papa? How many hours does this sound like to you?"

The handyman smiled. "The pegs, they'll be simple enough, but the boats will be harder. And we still don't know if you'll have the focus to work as many hours as you normally would in a day." He looked to Killian.

"Also, I must say you're not the first person to come here to commission my boy to make something for them. It seems that when they hear what he did, well, they want to show they appreciate by… making sure he has what to do to stay busy."

August nodded and Killian wondered at the relieved expression on his face. "I quite understand," the pirate said.

"I would say," Marco continued, "that you'd be looking at, perhaps a month's work, but that month might stretch to six weeks if he needs to rest more than usual. And he can't start immediately, because of the other orders."

"But," August said hastily, "I'd charge you for a month's work however long it takes me. Factoring in the cost of tools and materials…" He named a figure.

Killian spared a glance toward Marco, who was nodding approval. The handyman's reputation for fair dealing was beyond reproach. From the expression on his face, he thought that his son was driving a decent enough bargain. That was good enough for Killian. "Done," he said, extending his hand. August shook it.

"I'll have papa draw up an agreement before I get started," he said. "Just to make sure we're clear on the terms."

"And you can take it to whomever you like to review it before you sign," Marco added. "Just to make sure you know what it is you're signing."

The cricket spoke for the first time. "Rumpelstiltskin would probably be good for that."

Killian hoped his expression didn't betray him. "Thanks for the advice, mate," he remarked, "but I think I can read my own contracts."

"I'll let you know when it's ready," Marco replied without missing a beat.

After Killian had gone, the three men remaining in the room looked at one another. Marco stifled a laugh. August shook his head in amazement. "Thanks," he said, "for not telling him…"

"…That Rumpelstiltskin was in earlier to request the same thing?" Jiminy smiled. "Never."

August laughed. "When you told him to have Gold review the contract, I was afraid you were going give it away. And we don't even know that either one doesn't want it for themselves!"

"I've taken commissions from Rumpelstiltskin before," Marco smiled. "He may admire beautiful things, but when it comes to items he means for his own use, his tastes run much simpler. More economical. No, he means this as a gift. And when two grown men come in asking you to carve them sets for the same game… I think it's safe to guess who the gift might be for."

"Still doesn't prove Hook's not keeping the one I'm making him."

Marco's eyes widened. "Tell me, my boy, once he receives one as a gift… what will he need with the other one?"

August's chuckle morphed into a full-blown laugh. Marco and Jiminy joined in.

* * *

Rumple had to admit that it was good to be back home. He wasn't ready to reopen the shop quite yet; while he'd more or less recovered from the sprained ankle already, his arm needed a bit more time. It was ironic, really. Had the arm recovered first, he could probably have managed the shop, provided he spent the majority of the time sitting down. But when there were no customers, he tended to occupy his time with dusting and polishing and he couldn't do those comfortably with only one good arm. Using the drop spindle was awkward enough, but he could manage it for short intervals and the peace that washed over him when he did outweighed the discomfort—at least, to a point. It occurred to him that the pi— _that Killian Jones_ , he reminded himself forcefully; if he wanted the man to address him by his proper name and not 'Crocodile', then he'd best allow Jones the same courtesy. Killian Jones would probably have some suggestions on how to get by with the use of one hand. (True, Rumple's problem wasn't the hand, but the arm behind it; still, it seemed that there was a bit of overlap in the limitations of each condition.)

Rumple wasn't certain he could get up the nerve to ask him, though. While things might be more cordial between himself and Ki—Rumple frowned, reflecting that he had some appreciation for Emma's discomfort in addressing him by his own name. Different reasons, but still. "Killian" was too casual, "Killian Jones," too formal. Perhaps, he'd be best off thinking of the man by his rank. "Captain" was polite enough, while still maintaining enough reserve for a man whom Rumple doubted he'd ever call friend. Though, perhaps, the gift he'd commissioned from Booth might help to defuse some of the tension that would probably always exist between them to a certain degree.

There were other reasons for the gesture, of course. He still didn't know whether his conversation with Snow several nights earlier had been the test he'd suspected, but it didn't take a genius to guess that for the foreseeable future, the eyes of the heroes would be scrutinizing his every word and action as they tried to determine how much of his past behavior could be attributed to the Dark One, and how much to his own character. This might be a second chance, but it was also a sort of probation. And the more he demonstrated that he was trying to be a better person—even if he knew deep down how low his chances were at succeeding at _that_ goal—the greater the odds that when he failed, as he knew he would, then perhaps, just perhaps, they'd take it into consideration before they condemned him. He needed them to. Until, no. _Unless_ he was able to use magic to protect himself, he had no illusions that he could mount any defense against those who might seek to settle old scores with him, now that his power was gone. He remembered again the mob that had gathered on Regina's front lawn when the curse had first broken. Emma and her parents had come to the Queen's rescue then. Emma would probably come to his now. But she'd also been weakened by the ordeal. And he had to consider the possibility that she wouldn't be able to reach him in time.

No, he had to assume that he was on his own for the immediate future, and he needed as many defenders in his corner as he could get. And if making friendly overtures to the pi—to the _captain_ —would gain him some, then he'd make them. He just wasn't about to humiliate himself with obsequious fawning.

Besides, August had to be growing bored with lying in bed for hours on end. Rumple had found his own respite with the drop spindle, but if the former puppet preferred whittling, the least Rumple could do was give him a project to occupy him.

He looked over to the shelf by his bed where Belle's marionettes sat. This last one was somewhat better-made than its predecessors. At least, nobody would mistake its face for that of one who had drunk a dose of that potion he'd given Jiminy all those years ago. He took it down again to examine more closely, though he'd had ample time to do so in the hospital. The face might be better formed, it was true, but cutoff denim shorts and midriff tank tops weren't really suited to wooden puppets, particularly not those whose bodies were more or less genderless. Still, Belle had done a fair job of capturing Lacey's laughing cruelty in the painted hard red lips.

_The Wild Child_

_Reckless and rebellious, ready to toss caution to the winds, she does as she will and if she has enough decency to occasionally try not to hurt others too badly, she doesn't care overmuch if she does. She doesn't come out to play very often; the others keep her shut away as much as possible, for their safety as much as for that of others. But occasionally, she does escape and then all hell breaks loose. Perhaps if she were allowed more freedom, she wouldn't feel the same need to have her presence known. Perhaps if she weren't treated as a shame and an embarrassment, she'd find better ways to express herself. And perhaps, if the others weren't so afraid to admit she existed, they'd take the time to see how much she has to offer._

Rumple shook his head. He could recognize an apology in that ramble, though he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. He would have thought that, feminine pronouns aside, the description would have applied more to him than to her.

And if Belle was trying to say that they had more in common than she'd ever let him think… did she truly mean to state that she thought it was a good thing? And even if she did, even if he wanted to forgive her, if after he finally let her in once more, she hurt him yet again, he truly didn't know whether he'd be able to recover.

All in all, it was probably a good thing that he'd asked her to come by the shop. By the time he reopened it, he'd hopefully be in the right frame of mind to talk to her. He just didn't know what he'd say when he did.

* * *

The Apprentice examined the object Regina held out to him with a solemn expression. "I can see why you wanted to see me," he remarked, handing it back to her and pouring a cup of tea. He took a second cup and saucer from his sideboard and brought it to the table. The mayor shook her head.

"Biscuits, perhaps?" the old man asked.

"No, thank you," Regina said, keeping her gaze trained on him. "Is there anything you can do?"

The Apprentice's eyebrows shot up. "I believe you were present when I cast the spell the first time," he replied. "You saw how close the Darkness came to taking an unacceptable price then," and there was a hint of challenge in his statement, as though he was daring her to gainsay his claim.

She didn't.

The old man sighed. "I suppose it's for the best that I hadn't foreseen this. Although I'll admit that, in hindsight, it does seem obvious. The hat was called upon to remove less than half the Darkness in Rumpelstiltskin's heart and even that proved beyond its capabilities. Had I known then that once you'd split his heart, both halves would need to be present…" His face was grave. "When I realized what the Darkness was about, I had the idea that Pinocchio's willing sacrifice would prevent it from achieving its aim, but there was a potential problem there, specifically the speed at which Pinocchio reverted to wood. We're fortunate that he'd been able to take in much of the Darkness. The hat was able to trap what was left. But I didn't realize that we were attempting to contain less than half of the Dark One's true power."

Regina looked at the blackened half heart she cupped in both hands and, while her expression didn't change, she felt her blood run cold. "You're saying that Rumple's heart…"

"That half was not present when the spell was cast and thus, it was not affected by it." He leaned forward. "I'm sure you understand why you can't return it to Rumpelstiltskin now."

Regina nodded. "So… what do we do with it? Crush it?"

"No!" the Apprentice exclaimed quickly. "That heart holds more than half of the Dark One's essence. If you crush it, you set that essence loose, and it will be free to enter whosoever would willingly offer themselves to it. And be assured that there will _always_ be some soul desperate enough."

"I see," Regina said slowly. "Can you take it then? Keep it wherever you're keeping the hat?"

The Apprentice shook his head. "It is because I have the hat in my possession that I dare not accept the heart." He took a breath. "Guardianship of that hat was entrusted to me centuries ago. And despite all safeguards and precautions—both mine and my master's—it was still wrested from me a time or two. It may yet be again. And while it holds only a fraction of the Dark One's power, should any be willing to take on that burden, defeating them will be no easy task. But consider what might happen if someone were to acquire the Darkness in that heart as well. Rumpelstiltskin had nearly three hundred years to learn about the power he gained. More, he had strong reason to retain some small glimmer of the man he'd been. Try though it did, the Darkness was never quite able to snuff out those last specks of love and Light in his heart. But although the power never completely overwhelmed him, it grew all the stronger under his stewardship. Such power would quite overwhelm a new, less-experienced host."

Regina's hands were sweating, but her voice never faltered. "What do you suggest, then?"

The Apprentice regarded her sadly. "I think I know now my master's feelings when he laid my charge on me. As he did, now so must I." He hesitated for a moment. Then he took another breath. "Keep the heart safe. Weave as many protections and safeguards about it as you can. Eventually, Rumpelstiltskin will surely inquire as to its whereabouts. You may tell him what I've told you; I've no doubt he'll understand the need for discretion. But I do think it wise that everyone else continue to think that whatever Darkness was not snuffed out by Pinocchio's transformation is safely locked away in the hat."

"I understand," Regina nodded. "Very well. I'll keep the heart in one of the caskets in my vault; I've dozens there already, and I'll know if anyone attempts to break in." She frowned. "Normally, I'd seal it in with blood magic, but there's the small matter of my sister…" She thought for a moment. And then she smiled. "It won't be a problem."

"Your majesty?"

Regina let out a breath. "I think I know how to tweak that spell so she won't be able to get past it. If I—"

The Apprentice held up a hand. "On second thought, it's probably best that we don't discuss this matter further. Perhaps my time in the hat and under the Author's quill has made me wary, but I daresay that's better than being overly complacent. I can't reveal what I don't know. And if there's a chance that I could be controlled or coerced into helping the Darkness, as my master once feared when he wove his protections about the hat, then I think it best that I trust you know what you're about." He gave her a weary smile. "It's happened before. No. Do as you must to safeguard that item. But I think it best I be spared the details."

Regina nodded. "As you like," she returned. She hesitated. "You should be aware of one thing," she ventured. "About the safeguard I have in mind. It will hold, for now. But in about six months, there'll be a small chance that an assault on it could succeed. The vulnerable window won't last more than a year or two, though. And after that," she smiled, "we should all be able to breathe easier. I don't know if there'll be a living soul that will ever be able to get past the protection spell I mean to cast once that deadline's past."

The Apprentice smiled back, but his eyes were hooded. "I suppose then, that we'd best hope for an uneventful two years. And let us pray that not be false hope."

Regina felt her smile start to widen. Then she realized that the old man was dead serious and it dropped away entirely. Instead she merely nodded again. But she swallowed hard as she took her leave.

* * *

It was on a Monday some two weeks later that Rumple reopened the shop. He told himself that he just wanted to be certain that his arm was sufficiently healed to handle the day-to-day tasks, but he allowed that he was still hesitant about seeing Belle again. There had been no new marionettes in the interim; he supposed they'd served their purpose in softening him up enough to be willing to talk with their crafter.

He wasn't angry with her. He was actually grateful for the comfort she'd given him that night in the clock tower. But as to whether he could truly trust her enough to let her back into his life? He was still wrestling with that one. And he suspected he'd been stalling about reopening the shop in order to avoid the confrontation.

There was only so long he could putter about his house and he really wasn't comfortable receiving people there. So, while he was touched that Emma had made a point of stopping by daily on her way to the sheriff station, and that August had phoned several times in those two weeks, _and_ that both of them had passed on well wishes from some of the others, it was time to settle back into the usual routine.

He wondered how long the camaraderie would last. Right now, they were glad that he was free of the Darkness. And it was gratifying to know that they were somewhat concerned about him. Still, it was just a matter of time before they returned to their usual lives, which had never included him as more than a source of magic and information. Well. At least he could still furnish _half_ of that, he thought with only mild bitterness, as he unlocked the shop door and turned the sign from "closed" to "open".

As he'd expected, the shop was dusty. He hadn't texted Henry to come in today, not wanting the boy to come out here for nothing. He supposed he still could, but his grandson wouldn't have known that Rumple would be reopening today, and he had probably made other plans for after school. Well, Rumple allowed, he had managed for decades without an assistant and he could certainly handle some minor cleanup today. As for tomorrow, he'd see how today went. He could always send Henry a text this evening with his decision.

He went over to one of the shelves on the back wall behind the counter and picked up one of the knickknacks in one hand and a polishing cloth in the other.

The bell over the door jangled and he turned to see a small crowd of people hurry somewhat nervously inside. Rumple's heart sank. Emma, her parents, Regina, August… every face bore a serious expression. He pressed his lips together, squared his shoulders, and tried to keep his voice even. "What's happened?"

David spoke first. "We've… been discussing a few things," he said.

Well. That sounded ominous to Rumple's ears. He frowned. "Indeed?"

"I…" That was Emma. "I… uh… I've been sharing some of the stuff you told us in New York and…"

" _And_ ," Regina said, her voice soft but penetrating nonetheless, "I'll admit that if someone had come to me and in one breath told me that Henry," she looked at Rumple once more, "had been mortally wounded and fallen through a portal and in the next that they wanted me to put my emotions aside and work on saving a town that had almost universally decided it hated me, I'd probably have loosed a fireball or two."

Rumple blinked. Regina's tone was anything but joking.

"I won't apologize for prioritizing thousands of lives at risk over what you were going through," Snow said sadly, "but I will… we all will… for expecting you to just… drop everything and help us."

"That time, at least," Rumple said slowly, "you were somewhat less strident than usual with your request."

Snow shook her head. "It still wasn't right. I guess I could say we were desperate, but when has that ever been a good excuse?"

"Bottom line?" David's voice was firm. "We screwed up. Not just then, but on multiple occasions before and since. But that brings us to another problem."

Emma took a step forward, reaching one hand into the pocket of her brown winter coat as she did. "It's one thing to say that, going forward, we'll be there for you if you need us. The thing is, Storybrooke hasn't exactly been a quiet little town since before I broke the first curse. Stuff happens and… as much as I want to say, 'call me if you need anything' and mean it…" She shook her head. "I can't deny that if you call me right when a wraith, or a-a dragon, or a horde of ogres is wreaking havoc, I'm going to have to—like my mother said—prioritize the town's safety over you. I just am," she added nervously, looking to gauge his reaction.

Even as Rumple started to nod, August broke in, "But that doesn't mean you don't have a right to support from us. So…"

"So," Snow said, "we think we've got a solution. It's not perfect. And if you've got a tweak or two to suggest, we're ready to hear it. But I think this can work." She turned to her daughter. "Emma?"

Emma pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket and set it down before him on the counter. "Program this into your phone," she said. "And call it any time you want to-to talk. Or if you need some help, or you just… think you'd like someone around." She gave him a faint smile. "Even if it's because you want to vent and you're not looking for any real answers."

"The number connects to a phone that one of us will have with us at all times," Regina said. "We'll try to set up a rotation, but if, for example, it's my turn with it and… something comes up that could compromise my availability, I'll make certain to give it over to someone else who's free."

"Usually, when the town's under attack," August said, "it's the same people who have to fight it off. Most of whom are right here. But not all of us," he added with an easy smile. "And of course, you can always phone any of us directly anytime. Just, if there's a crisis, whoever you call might not be able to drop everything and be there for you right when you need them. Whoever's got the phone connected to the number on that piece of paper _will_."

"Even in a crisis," Emma added, smiling a bit herself, "there are downtimes, when more of us can be there." She took another breath and her smile dropped. "Thing is, I know that in New York, and even once we got back here, there were some things you found easier to talk over with me than with August and vice versa."

"Unfortunately," David said, "that's one drawback with this idea. When you call the number, you won't know in advance who's going to pick up. But anytime, day or night, someone is going to."

"Like I said," Snow smiled sadly, "it's not a perfect system. But if you don't want to face something alone, I can promise you that from this point onwards, you won't."

"You're part of this town, Rumple," Regina finished. "And it's high time that we all started acting like it."

Rumple blinked his eyes several times rapidly. Then he gave a jerky nod and snapped up the slip of paper hastily. "Thank you," he managed, shoving it into his pocket. He'd program it later, when they weren't all gathered before him and he had a better grip on himself. "A-all of you. I…" He pressed his lips together and spun on his heel. "E-excuse me," he said quickly. "I believe that there's something in the b-back that needs my attention."

* * *

Snow was right. This was a compromise, not a perfect solution. But it was the first time he could recall that someone in a position of strength had tried to strike a deal that wasn't predicated on an attempt to gain the maximum benefit from him at the minimum cost to them. He could have dealt with that. He could have crafted loopholes to exploit and laughed at them for thinking that they had the audacity to believe that they could put one over on him. But this? Nothing in his past experience had ever prepared him for something of this magnitude. A tidal wave of emotion rose before him and he knew he needed to be alone before it hit. Before the others all realized how vulnerable he truly was and some of them possibly judged that they didn't need to be quite so generous. Before…

He stumbled through the curtain that covered the entrance to his private office, relieved when nobody followed him. He practically fell into the leather chair behind his desk, and sat, one hand in his pocket, fingering the paper, while he let the tears he hadn't wanted to show publicly course silently down his cheeks, lips frozen in a smile he wasn't sure would ever fade. It wasn't until receding footsteps and the jangling bell told him that the others had gone that he made his way to the bathroom off of his office to splash cold water on his face.

Before he made his way back to the shop floor, he pulled out his phone to program the new number.

* * *

They were gone, but Rumple noticed a few pieces of paper that had been left behind on the counter, along with another shopping bag. He ignored the bag for the moment and looked at the largest page. He recognized Regina's handwriting. She'd left him a list of those who had volunteered to take a turn monitoring the phone line. Emma, August, Snow, David, Regina, Henry… He supposed he could have foreseen Archie's name on the roster, but Whale's was a shock. And Flora? Fauna? _Tinkerbell_? He was relieved that Regina had added a note at the bottom advising him that if there was anyone he'd prefer not be involved, he could let her know and she'd attend to it. Because being expected to keep company with fairies for any length of time was really too much to ask. Even if—to hear Emma tell it—Tink had stood up to Blue when the latter would have denied them access to the convent's library. Even if Fauna had been treating him, not just as though he was no longer the Dark One, but as though he'd _never_ been the Dark One. Even if Flora…

It wasn't as though he expected he'd actually use the phone line. Still, he was touched that they'd set this up. And even if he never took advantage of it, it was still reassuring to think that it was there.

Belle's name wasn't on the list. He wasn't surprised. As much as he'd been pushing her away since New York, he couldn't really expect otherwise. Still, he found himself wondering whether she'd declined in order to respect his wishes, or whether she'd finally lost hope, _or whether the others, knowing the state of their relationship, hadn't approached her in the first place._

His gaze flicked toward the shopping bag. One of the five who'd been in here previously must have brought it. He'd been so sure that they'd come to advise him of some new threat to the town that he hadn't been paying attention to much else. Well. He'd look at that in a moment.

There was a note from August to let him know that Marco was expecting him to dine on Thursday night and to phone if that date wouldn't work. And there was another from Emma to let him know that Henry would be by after school, unless Rumple called to advise him otherwise.

Rumple wasn't about to do that.

Hesitantly, he reached for the shopping bag and pulled out another marionette. His eyes widened and his heart seemed to thunder in his chest. This one wore a camel-colored coat over a sleeveless grey mini-dress. At least, he presumed it was sleeveless like the original garment it was modeled on, just as he presumed that the sleeves of the white shirt with silver beadwork on the collar were short and puffed. The puppet's hair was pinned back in a high ponytail with a rhinestone clasp. And, surprisingly, the face was nearly right. But there was something cold and flat about the eyes.

He almost didn't want to read the scroll attached to this one, but he drew it out of the coat pocket and unfurled it.

 _The Mon_ —

"The Monster," Belle's voice startled him. How long had she been in that corner behind the map carousel?

"Denied expression, denied a voice, denied the basic acknowledgment that she exists." She drew several steps closer. "But she does. You can… dress her up all you like, wrap her in all these ideals of what good people are supposed to be until she actually believes that's all there is to her and all anyone sees. But deep down… deep down it's another story."

Rumple shook his head. "Belle…"

"Like Paul in that movie we saw," Belle said softly, "I am the puppets. I'm a pawn, a sacrifice, a fixer, a wild child…" her lips curled in wry amusement, "…there are a few other parts of me that I didn't get around to making; even Paul only had four in _Lili_. But like him, there _is_ a part of me that's a monster. No," she said, when he would have spoken. "Please, don't deny it. I've spent too much time down that path already. All it ever does is… make the monster find other ways of expressing itself." She locked clear eyes on Rumple's. "In my case, it convinces that because I mean well, it doesn't matter who I hurt along the way. It didn't matter that I left Anna to Ingrid's scheming in Arundel, because I was on a noble quest," her fingers formed quotation marks as she spoke those last two words, "and I wasn't about to lose the memory rock I'd traveled all that way to acquire. Even if she was the one who took me to the rock trolls to get it."

She sighed. "It didn't matter that I used your dagger, or at least what I thought was your dagger, because stopping Ingrid was the _right_ thing to do, no matter who I trampled on to do it. I told you at the town line that all I could see was a monster. I just didn't realize I was holding up a mirror."

"You weren't," Rumple protested.

Belle blinked back tears. "I was. I couldn't see my own monster, but I had no trouble finding yours. I convinced myself I could defeat it with the strength of my love, when I couldn't see that…" She took a deep breath. "Rumple. There have been… many times when you told me that you couldn't understand what I saw in you. Did you ever figure it out?"

Rumple tilted his head quizzically at her.

"Well, then. I saw someone who took me for who I was, who listened to my voice instead of seeing me as some game counter or bargaining chip, who couldn't have cared less whether I was a duke's daughter or hospital patient with no memory of any life before several days earlier. But more than that, Rumple, I saw a man who was what I didn't dare try to become." Her voice faltered, but her blue eyes were steady.

"I do have a monster in me, Rumple. Everyone does, whether we admit it or not. My problem was that in refusing to see mine, I ended up seeing yours all the more clearly. And once I did…" She shook her head. "I let mine take over so that I could hurt you as badly as you'd hurt me, and then I cloaked myself in self-righteousness and resignation and told myself I'd done the right thing."

"I gave you cause enough," Rumple said quietly.

"To be angry, yes. To banish you without hearing you out?" Belle shook her head. "To take up with Will immediately afterwards and then look for reasons to be angry at you when you found out, as though that would somehow justify my betrayal? No." She took another breath and now Rumple saw a tear welling up in the corner of one eye. She swiped at it furiously.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I thought I could do this without breaking down. Rumple, when you called me from New York, and again when you told us some of what had been going on after Zelena, you said you'd been lying to me from the beginning. The thing is, so was I. Both to you and to myself. I thought that if I denied seeing the monsters, yours and mine, then they'd just… go away, the way I heard one of the servants in Father's castle tell their son that if he ignored the bullies who were bothering him they'd leave him alone." She shook her head. "The thing is, sometimes, when you ignore bullies… they just try harder."

Rumple nodded emphatically at that.

Belle took another breath. "I denied your monster until that night in the clock tower, when I couldn't anymore. I denied mine until… well, until you went over the town line to save Regina and David."

She pointedly avoided mentioning the other occupant of the car, Rumple noticed. She must have realized that he'd never have gone after the witch had she been out there by herself. The chicken, perhaps, but not the witch. "Henry showed me the recording of the speech you made then," Rumple said softly.

Belle blinked. "Did he?" she asked, reddening slightly. "I knew he recorded me punching Blue a few days later, but I hadn't realized he'd also—"

A startled laugh escaped him. "You _punched_ the Blue fairy?" he blurted out.

Belle gave him a tiny smile. "I did."

"I wish I could have seen—" He caught himself. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "You were saying?"

Belle sobered almost at once. "I've been… taking a few hard looks at myself these last few weeks. And I think that part of what made me so… so angry was seeing in you pieces of _me_ that I didn't want to admit were there. And yet, I had to make sure that you saw them. I betrayed your trust with the dagger and then," she looked down, "w-with Will, too I suppose. I wasn't even honest with myself about what I wanted from you, so how could I be honest with you about it? I blamed you for being too cowardly to give up your power for me, and yet I was too…" She looked away. "You heard my speech at the town line."

"Yes."

Belle shook her head. "All this time, I thought that if you'd let me explain, if you'd only hear my side, then it would patch things up and we could go back to where we were. I see now that… it won't work. We've hurt each other too much already, haven't we?" Rumple regarded her silently, and she couldn't tell whether the softness in his eyes bespoke forgiveness or empathy, but he wasn't protesting her summation. She gulped hard. "I'm sorry. So sorry. Th-thank you for finally hearing me out. For letting me tell you everything I needed you to know without shutting me down this one time. I won't bother you again." She shook her head sadly and turned away. "Goodbye, Rumple."

She was halfway to the door when Rumple called softly behind her, "Belle."

She turned back to face him and now, he could see that the tears that had been welling up in her eyes were starting to trickle down her cheeks. He shook his head sadly. "I-I know what it cost you to say all of that. Don't think I don't value it."

"But it's not enough," Belle finished miserably.

"To go back to where we were?" And then, the faintest of smiles flickered on Rumple's face, even as he shook his head. "No."

Belle nodded and started to leave once more. Rumple wasn't done. "But Belle," he continued, and now there was ghost of a smile in his voice as well, "would you truly want to? To a marriage built on a foundation of deception and distrust? One where we each hid the parts of us we didn't want the other to see, stifling them until—as you've just noted—they finally broke free from our control and lashed out in the most painful way possible? One where neither of us probed or questioned too deeply out of fear of what we might uncover? Because, that was what we had, wasn't it?"

"You're right," Belle said slowly, wonderingly. "And of course I don't want that. Who would?"

"Indeed." He was still regarding her and now Belle saw a glimmer of hope in his—or was she seeing a reflection of what must surely be in hers?

For a long moment nobody spoke. Then Belle screwed up her courage enough to ask, "What if we were to start fresh? If we built a new foundation, one created from mutual trust and honesty? On talking things out instead of assuming we each know what the other would say. On…"

Rumple nodded. "It's still not going to be easy. And I think… I think we'll need to take things a bit more slowly." He looked at her nervously. "Old patterns are hard to break. Particularly all at once. If we're to truly build something that can last, we can't rush into things and trust love to get us through. It will," he added, and Belle first blinked and then smiled to hear the note of certainty in his voice. "It will, but only if we set about building that new foundation. And that will take time."

"I can live with slowly," Belle's smile widened. "And _nothing_ about our love ever has been," she gave the smallest of laughs, "easy. But… I know it's worth it. I know _you're_ worth it. And more importantly, I know _we_ are."

He stretched out his hands to her across the counter and she clasped them, scarcely believing that he'd made the gesture. "I know _you_ are, anyway," he murmured. "But as much as we both might want this to be… I just don't know if that's going to be enough. But I will try."

"As I will," Belle said firmly. "That's a start. "And it's enough for today."

"One day at a time?"

"Too rushed?" Belle asked, half-joking, but half-serious.

Rumple shook his head slowly, a small wondering smile on his face as he squeezed her warm hands in his. "No. I think that might be just about right."

The kiss they shared was brief and tentative, but it was the first they'd shared with one another in quite some time. And the small spark of hope that each had been nursing flickered to life and began to glow with a steady flame.

**_Epilogue_ **

The young woman stepped off the bus and into the bitter windy cold of a New York December. She took a moment to get her bearings before walking confidently down Madison Avenue. A couple of seedy-looking people regarded her with interest, but moved away, giving her a wide berth and she smiled grimly. She'd always been able to give off that vibe when she needed to.

She made her way along the street to the address she'd been given years ago and hesitated before the revolving door, wondering whether she'd left things too long, whether the person she sought had moved on. _Or passed on_ , she added cynically. It had been nearly twenty years since she'd found out who she was and where she'd come from. No telling whether the contact information she'd been given then was still good.

She frowned at the sign on the cornerstone. _Hornby Aquarium. This stone was laid by—_ Some guy she'd never heard of, over fifty years ago. She went in and looked about the lobby, wrinkling her nose. Yes, this was an aquarium, but did the whole place have to smell like bait? When was the last time some animal welfare organization had checked this place out? Maybe it was a good thing she'd come today, after all. In a week, going by the way things looked, this whole operation might be shut down.

She approached the ticket booth and glowered when she realized that the shade was drawn and a handwritten post-it note that read "Back at 1PM" was affixed to the window glass. She looked at her watch and saw that it was 1:30. Wonderful. She wondered whether the note was even from today.

Still… the doorway into the exhibits was open and there was no guard checking for tickets. She pressed on.

The place seemed to be deserted, but unlike the outer hall or the carpeting, the glass on the fish tanks was spotless. And, while she didn't know much about marine life, it looked to her as though the fish inside were active and well-fed. But then, she reminded herself, she didn't know much about marine life.

A slight sound startled her. It sounded like a shovel biting into crushed ice or slush. She hesitated for a moment and heard it again. Cautiously, she moved toward the noise and found herself approaching a large tank that held a number of good-sized fish and the biggest turtle she'd ever seen. And in front of the tank, there was a woman of indeterminate age in blue coveralls, scooping something out of a large plastic bucket.

"It's all I've got," the worker was saying irritably. "If you're not happy about it, try eating each other."

The young woman smiled. "Might give them a little more space in there," she said.

The worker whirled to face her. "Who're you?"

Well, she'd made it as far as this aquarium, going on twenty-year-old instructions she'd memorized long ago. And the next one had been to introduce herself to the first person she met and ask…

"My name is Lilith Page. I'm looking for… Are you… Ursula?"

The woman gave an angry start. "Who wants to know? Did that creep of a loan shark send you? You tell him I'll have his money by the end of the week, you got that!"

Lilith—or Lily, as she usually preferred—stood her ground. "Nobody sent me. Not exactly, anyway. But I've been looking for you for some time."

"Yeah, why?"

She hesitated. "This is going to sound weird, but I think you knew my mother."

Ursula snorted. "Yeah? And who was that?"

The expression "time to fish or cut bait" was almost too appropriate for the setting. "I never knew her," she said quietly, sizing Ursula up and waiting to see how she was about to react, "but I'm told her name was… Maleficent."

Ursula's eyes widened. "Why are you here?" she demanded and Lily wondered at the note of fear in her voice.

"Because I think that we're both after the same thing," Lily smiled. "Revenge. On the two people who harmed us most. Snow White and Prince Charming."

Ursula blinked. And then she smiled for the first time. "Let's talk."

**The End?**


End file.
